And Then There Were None: POTC Style
by Willofthewisp
Summary: Based on Agatha Christie's famous novel. Our heroes are all invited to MacGuffin Island, one year after AWE for some limbo and adventure. But all isn't as it seems as one by one, they die, but not before some very dark humor ensues. eventual j/e.
1. And So It Begins

**A/N: This is a homage/parody of one of my favorite books of all time, _And Then There Were None_, merged with my favorite characters of all time, the POTC characters! Yes, there will be deaths, but this is a black comedy, hopefully along the lines of _Clue _or _Murder by Death. _If you've seen the stage version, it will float slightly closer to that than the actual novel, but expect lots of gags and twists along the way. I do not own any of the songs I use or any of the pop culture references, and I especially don't own POTC.**

* * *

James Norrington adjusted the lamplight and brought his face closer to the letter, rereading it even though each word had been seared into his retinas. After Captain Turner resurrected him and promptly kicked him overboard of the _Flying Dutchman _last year, every eye squint, every sneeze, every flick of dust off his lapels—every movement was more than movement. It was proof, proof, damn it, that he was alive.

_Dear Ex-Commodore Norrington,_

_I do hope this letter finds you well instead of rotting away with vultures picking at you. Since your rather anticlimactic death, things certainly have changed in Port Royal, namely its destruction. We understand you gave several loyal years of service to Port Royal before becoming a miserable sellout and are paying those contributors reparations. Do come to MacGuffin Island off the coast of some unnamed island in the Caribbean to retrieve your compensation on the 13__th__ of June. There will be limbo, surfing, snorkeling, drinking, and all other activities one usually does on a tropical island. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ulick Norman Owen, Esq._

It read so simply, so condescendingly, James thought, easing back in his hotel bed. He'd been too late for the Little Miss Sunshine pageant out here in sunny California, the tiny beauty queens already sobbing except for the lucky winner. He'd give anything for the days when Miss Elizabeth Swann had been that young… Well, everything would turn out right soon enough…

* * *

_Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl  
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there  
She would merengue and do the cha-cha  
And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar  
Across a crowded floor, they worked from 8 till 4  
They were young and they had each other  
Who could ask for more?_

Elizabeth belted out the chorus of "Copacabana," cleaving her microphone close to her with one hand while waving her opposite arm over her head.

"Come on, everybody!" she shouted out to her audience, a few dozen barflies who were regulars at this dump, she thought. Through the glass walls of the airport lounge, she could see passengers hustling to their gates. Each and every one of them was off to somewhere exciting, some new adventure, while she languished here, smelling of cigarette smoke every night singing to these bastards.

They applauded here and threw some spare change in her jar, none sticking around to compliment her.

"Elizabeth," the piano player said, gesturing at her from his bench.

"Another lousy night, Byron," she sighed.

"This came for you earlier. Let's hope it's a hundred dollar tip, huh?"

Elizabeth tore open the envelope Byron handed her, her heart pounding. Her husband out ferrying the dead, her father gone, Jack…she refused to think of Jack. Her fingers trembled at the thought of his name, though. She closed her eyes and prayed as she scrolled her hands down to the bottom of the note. If that signature was a familiar one…Mr. Owen?

_Dear Captain Swann-Turner,_

_Word has spread quickly of the Pirate King who defeated the East India Trading Company last year. We've noticed you're a hard woman to find. Lord knows how you went from Pirate King to lounge singer, but there are those of us who feel you have not lost your touch. We're in need of a woman who knows her way around a pistol and a ship for some good old-fashioned pirating. We're assembling the best team the world has to offer and would like you to captain them. If you're interested, please come to MacGuffin Island on the 13__th__ of June, alone. Weapons and soft drinks will be provided. _

"I'm heading out of town for a few days, Byron," she said, grabbing her coat and stuffing the letter into the cleavage of her sequined dress. "See ya."

* * *

It was another glorious day on the _Flying Dutchman _and William Turner emerged from below decks with a purposeful, rejuvenated look in his large brown eyes. Glancing over at the makeshift smithy they constructed, his crew busied themselves with sword-making. The familiar pounding of steel and warm rush of fire reminded Will of simpler times, more sword-filled times. Ah, swords, he thought, ambling to the helm. There might be loads of swords on MacGuffin Island and loads of experts for sparring!

"Son."

"Dad."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I know you'll be just fine. Those buckets we strapped on you aren't going anywhere, but are you sure you want to risk it? We can't have you corrupting your purpose, you know." Bootstrap Bill laid a calloused, steady hand on Will's shoulder.

"You're my first mate, the best one to leave in charge, Dad. I'll be fine. It's about time this Mr. Owen character realized my contributions to Port Royal. Do you know how many swords I made while I was there? Finally I'll get some money for it all, now that the hurricane decimated the place. I'll send the money to Elizabeth, of course. I can only imagine the strain this long-distance marriage is putting on her."

"Captain! Captain!" one of the men interrupted, racing over to them with a lopsided object in his arms. "Look! I made my sword curvy! We didn't even cover that in the Sword-Making 101 Seminar!"

"It's very nice, Cliff, but around here, we make our sword blades straight. That's the English way!" Will puffed his chest. "MacGuffin Island is only a day away. Shall we submerge to make it faster?"

"Did you hear about the French Navy's tragic accident?" Bootstrap asked. "One hundred and thirty-seven sailors died trying to push-start their new submarine!"

"Stupid French," Will chuckled.

* * *

It will be so good to get away, Captain John Teague said to himself, rolling his eyes at the majority of the pirate lords leeching off his Shipwreck Cove hospitality. It had been a year, for God's sake! Every fucking night it was poker and Wii bowling and he was sick of it! It was far too easy to get a strike bowling on the Wii, too, making the arrogant lords even more smug, forgetting the fact that in real bowling, most of them rolled gutter balls.

Collapsing into his recliner, Teague pulled his guitar up to him and strummed a few random notes, the soft plucks almost drowning out the explosions and gunfire coming from the big-screen TV. Poking his head around, he saw the lords in a passionate _Call of Duty _tournament on the X-Box.

"I miss Jackie." Blinking, he shook his head. Since when was it like him to spout out sentimental tripe like that? Jackie's "visit" last year had brought an entire battle with it, not giving the two of them any time together. Teague looked at the fireplace mantle, the badminton set he'd bought for the two of them to play together still sat unopened. Sure, Jackie would look as uncoordinated as hell with his racket running around for an effeminate shuttlecock, but it would have been FUN, damn it! At least he would be on vacation soon, MacGuffin Island. It had been in all the papers recently, supposedly a favorite spot of American actress Cameron Diaz, and he certainly wouldn't mind running into her. And it was now hosting a pirate convention! Maybe Jackie would be there, he mused.

* * *

"I'm only going if you are," Gibbs said on the other end of the table, smacking his lips after taking a swig from his foamy stein.

"And I said I'm only going if you are," Captain Jack Sparrow shot back, slamming down his stein. Insolent codpiece! "You're acting a might ungrateful, seeing as how I stuck around Tortuga to keep you out of trouble!"

"You only stuck around because that stupid dinghy sunk before you were even out of the bay! What kind of idiot thinks he can go after the _Black Pearl _in nothing but a dinghy?"

"I wasn't going after the _Pearl_, I was going after…" Jack trailed off, twitched, and regained his composure. "Supposing I do go to MacGuffin Island without you, with no one to split the earnings with, I could very well legitimately buy a ship to take me to the _Pearl_. Of course, once I would get there, seeing as how I would be on me onesy, Barbossa and his motley crew would have no trouble in capturing and marooning me yet again. You'd think after all this time they would have something more original in mind."

"So what you're saying is that if I don't go with you, your life will be in danger?" Gibbs asked, tapping the letter that sat between them. "Very vague, this. Who's Mr. Owen and why does he need us to be there? All it says is he expects "a tight situation" and needs men of action. Sounds gay."

"Aye, I did consider that possibility." Jack cringed. "But if it were a gay attempt at gay seduction, I doubt you would have been included."

"That mean you don't think men would find me attractive?"

"And after more consideration, I pondered that if in the event it is a gay attempt at gay seduction, in which we would be cornered by said gay Mr. Owen, we would have do some un-gay cornering to out-corner ourselves and make an un-gay attempt for Mr. Owen's money without resorting to gay seductions, which is why I recommend a pistol."

"So…are we going?"

He could use some funding. And he could use a distraction. Tortuga's rum and wenches hit the spot for a short spell, but after a year of nothing, he would almost welcome the staunch pursuits of Commodore Norrington, the skilled swordplay of Barbossa, the shrill hypocrisy of William Turner, and the engaging company of… He whipped out his pistol. Sure enough, the arrow settled south, MacGuffin Island.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye?"

"Ready your pistol and your cutlass. We'll be needing a ship to take us there." His narrow, knowing grin woke the adventure streak in Gibbs.

"Aye! Take what ye can!"

"Give nothing back." The two clanked their steins and took one last guzzle.

* * *

_Dear Captain Barbossa,_

_Congratulations on once again successfully commandeering the famed Black Pearl! It takes a true pirate to pull of such a stint and we here at General Mills salute you! As the makers of such cereals as Cheerios, Trix, and Lucky Charms, we would like you to become the new spokesperson. We need a pirate of your stereotypical terror to endorse these items to children as part of a balanced breakfast. In addition to the hefty sum we will pay you, you will also be on the Wheaties box, which, as you know, is the breakfast of champions. Come down to MacGuffin Island on 13 June for your photo shoot. We will take care of all legalities there also. _

_Ulick Norman Owen, General Mills CEO_

"Full speed ahead!" Hector Barbossa called down to his crew while one eye stayed focused on his camera, loading film into it. Maybe after General Mills paid him, he could afford one of those fancy digital ones. Jack the Monkey circled around him, chattering away at the wind.

"Of course I'll make sure my photo's taken with you," he cooed at him, bending down to stroke him.

"Storm's on its way, sir!" one of the men shouted up to him. "Squall!"

"Just keep her steady, boys." The _Black Pearl _could handle much, much worse, he knew, from experience. He'd waited years to captain her freed from her curse, freed from his curse. Her previously ghastly presence had stripped away into full-out grandeur, magnificent to behold. And she was his. No goddess fish wives or blacksmiths or addle-brained buffoons who only THOUGHT they could captain her would snatch her away, not now.

"Turn back! Turn back!" Cotton's parrot squawked.

He wondered what stardom would be like. Red Carpet premieres, charity benefits where no one cared what they were raising money for, keel-hauling paparazzi—of course, it would make things easier for Jack to find him, but his entourage could make short work of Jack and anyone else who came along.

"Unnecessary risk! Unnecessary risk!" the parrot chirped again.

Blasted bird, Barbossa snapped in his head. He's more likely to take unnecessary risks than I am.

Unfortunately, for Barbossa, he was wrong.


	2. The Most Effective Kind of Killjoy

A MacGuffin in film is a plot element that catches the viewers' attention or drives the plot of a work of fiction. It's a main point of concern for the characters, but not really something the audience cares that much about, like the stolen plans to the Death Star in _Star Wars_. It's just an excuse for the story to exist. MacGuffin Island was like that, just a little island that existed not far from one of the bigger islands in the Caribbean, but everyone wanted to go there. If you still don't get this joke, I can't help you.

It was such a small island, in fact, visitors needed to rent or a boat or hire a ferryman to take them from the unnamed bigger island to it, and that was where we found Elizabeth wandering around, waiting for the boatman to come and take her across.

"Elizabeth."

"I don't take requests; I'm on vacation." She spun around and her arms fell to her sides at the sight of Will standing across from her. Heavy ropes entwined around his legs leading down to deep, sloshing buckets of water for his feet. "Will. What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to MacGuffin Island, blacksmith reparations." He blinked. The slight, tanned warrior woman in front of him was Elizabeth, the wife he had not expected to see for nine more years. Her hair was tied back in a long braid, her eyes wide, but also dulled. "I can't believe you're here."

"It all makes sense now," she breathed, still at arm's length from him. "If people are coming to pick up money, of course they would need someone who can handle a pistol to keep things in order." A small, hollow laugh erupted from her. "I do believe I'm working the security detail for this."

"It's good to see you."

"Oh. Oh, how rude of me. You look wonderful, Will, haven't changed a bit. I didn't tell you before, but your bandana is such a charming look for you. Did you pack more than one?"

"Oh, yeah. I plan to do a little bit of vacationing while I'm here. Dad has things on the _Dutchman _squared away and as long as I'm not gone for too long, we shouldn't expect any trouble. Now that you're here, we can make a honeymoon out of it! I've heard lovely things about this place. Word on the street is…"

"Word on the street?"

"Okay, word on the _Dutchman _is that the one and only house on the island was built over an Indian burial ground where white settlers desecrated the bodies. Then it was a great place for marooning South American government officials after coups d'états upon coups d'états. They starved to death if they didn't dehydrate first. Oh, and now I heard Cameron Diaz owns it, so maybe we'll see her and her _Charlie's Angels _friends."

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" they heard behind them. On the opposite end of the waiting post, Teague approached them, a few bags under his arms.

"Captain Teague!" Elizabeth yelped, running over to him. "You're going to MacGuffin Island, too? This is so exciting! If you're coming, then perhaps other pirates will come!" Jack might come…

"Not that I'm not pleased to see you, your Highness," Teague said, "but shouldn't the boat be here by now? We don't want to keep our host waiting." He gazed down at Elizabeth's hopeful expression, remembering the last time he had seen her. She'd been wearing that same face when Jackie had voted her the Pirate King. Fearful of the title for a split second, it became her instantly. That business she'd run into with the other lords right afterwards didn't prove anything. They didn't know how blessed they'd been to have her for their King and they squandered it. But to Teague, this was his King. Truly these folks knew how to throw a pirate convention if the King herself was invited. Maybe Jackie would be here after all.

"Barbossa?" Elizabeth and Teague followed Will's voice to the top of the hill where Barbossa, JTM on his shoulder, hobbled down, looking as dangerous as ever even as he struggled down a steep hill.

"Oh, jeez, you guys," he grunted. Clearing his throat, he summoned a gracious smile. "I don't suppose you've seen the Trix Rabbit walking around, have ye? I expected there to be an escort to this island."

"We're waiting for the boatman," Teague said. "Have we met?"

"Brethren Court, last year."

"No, before that. I thought I recognized you back then. Now where do I know you from?"

About to be the face of Wheaties Cereal, Barbossa considered saying, but was not about to lower himself to Elizabeth Swann-Turner and Will Turner's level. Instead, he shrugged and searched his pockets for a peanut to feed to JTM.

"Wait a second. You used to sail with Jackie. On the _Pearl._" Teague laughed and the backs of his fingers hit Barbossa in a playful jab. "Oy, that about killed me, trying to remember. You two were at each other's throats all the time. Tell me, what's it like taking orders from my son?"

"It didn't work out well for anyone, let me tell you," Will muttered under his breath.

Before Barbossa could give a definite answer, a small speedboat zoomed up to the dock with a cheerful, ruddy young man waving at them. Somewhat hesitantly forming a line, the four walked down the pier and were helped down into the boat just as the purple glow of twilight began to settle over the sea.

Suddenly, an ear-splitting airhorn echoed through the hills. Everyone ducked and covered their ears, craning their necks upward to find Captain Jack Sparrow and Joshamee Gibbs climbing down from a massive Spanish galleon not too far from them. Their boots hit the land with a confident thud. Gibbs waved and quickened his pace down to them, but Jack remained stoic. Only he was privy to the plethora of details and ideas churning in his unique brain. Looking only at the boatman, he lowered himself in and stood next to the helm, draping a casual elbow over it.

"Sturdy, if small," he said. "She'd take double the number if need be?"

"You guessed right, sir!" the boatman sang. "Off to MacGuffin Island." He squeezed himself past the passengers until he heard the loud screech of a car brake. "Guess we have one more. Any of you guys expecting company?"

"The more the merrier!" Gibbs shouted, opening his flask and taking a sip. "Good island, good friends. It'll be a vacation to remember."

The car door slammed. The passengers shifted in their seats to see the owner of the candy apple red Mercedes Benz. Jaws dropped. Hearts stopped. They had been shocked by this man before, only the circumstances had been vastly different. In the Locker, they had run into him the way they'd run into death, despair, isolation. He'd gazed up at them with a confused but accepting expression and then he'd been on his way, as mysteriously as he'd come to them. But now, in the car of everyone's dreams, on the way to adventure and the finer things in life…

"Father," Elizabeth breathed, tears glistening in her eyes.

* * *

"Dry your hands quicker," Pintel hissed, elbowing Ragetti who was drying his hands on his apron. "Here they come. Remember our instructions."

"I got to dry them nice and thoroughly," Ragetti argued.

"It ain't the drying as much as the washing that counts."

"If that were the case, everyone would go around with wet hands all the time. 'In theory one is aware that the earth revolves, but in practice one does not perceive it, the ground upon which one treads seems not to move, and one can live undisturbed. So it is with Time in one's life.' Marcel Proust."

"Hang it all. You're still spoutin' all that philosophical mumbo-jumbo even after culinary school?"

One by one, the passengers unloaded themselves and their belongings and strolled up to the massive white house that stood at the top of MacGuffin Island.

"What are ye lads doing here?" Barbossa asked.

Ragetti gestured to Pintel.

"Oh, right. Ahem. Good evening, lady and gentleman. My name is Pintel and…" He gulped at the irritated faces. "Mr. Owen's going to be a bit delayed, but we got all the rooms prepared and if ye come with me inside, I'll give ye each yer key."

"Since when are you working for Mr. Owen and not Barbossa?" Gibbs asked.

Barbossa sighed.

"Ragetti wanted to go off and learn to be a chef and Pintel wouldn't let his friend go alone. Touching, if they both weren't so disgusting."

"Dinner's going to be at eight!" Ragetti announced, standing straighter with an ear-to-ear grin.

"We got our itin-ary right here." Pintel produced a wrinkled piece of paper. "Badminton's in half an hour, followed by time for ye to bathe and relax until dinner."

* * *

James followed Ragetti into his room. A little smaller than he'd assumed it would look, but the cozy quilting and rustic décor more than made up for it. Thank goodness he would have his own bathroom, too. It was decidedly not a group to which sharing a bathroom sounded appealing at all.

"Everything to your liking, Commodore?"

"Yes. Yes. When one comes back to life, one becomes easy to please."

"Just what are you and Governor Swann doing back alive anyway?" Ragetti paused at the door, his long fingers rubbing together like cricket legs for a tip.

"After the battle, Calypso rejected those who had been killed by Beckett's hand, directly or indirectly. That would explain Governor Swann. As for me, I was starting to become a decorative piece on the _Flying Dutchman _until Turner saw me. I owe him my life…and the sad irony is that as soon as he resurrected me, he flung me out into the open ocean."

"Trying to kill you?"

"Probably just trying to be rid of me. The last time we had talked, I was trying to kill him, you know. All that heart in the chest business. Excuse me, but when do I receive my reparations?"

"Reparations?"

"Isn't the reason everyone is here is for our Port Royal reparations?"

"Sir, Port Royal was destroyed in a hurricane some time ago. But don't worry. We're going to have a good dinner tonight. I've been practicing this dish. Go on and have fun at badminton." And just like that, Ragetti scampered off downstairs into the kitchen.

No reparations? James had no doubt there would be even more surprises to come.

* * *

Jack unpacked everything but his effects, preferring they stay on his person. He circled the room like a caged lion, glancing out the window every time he passed it. No wonder Mr. Owen needed some extra protection with this sordid crowd. Each and every one of them betrayed and pillaged to their hearts' content…himself included, Jack smirked. Bugger. Even a grand house such as this would begin to feel cramped with ten people running about inside it.

He crossed over to his dresser and peered down at the framed poem:

_Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; _

_One choked his little self and then there were nine. _

_Nine little Indian boys sat up very late; _

_One overslept himself and then there were eight. _

_Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon; _

_One said he'd stay there and then there were seven. _

_Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; _

_One chopped himself in half and then there were six. _

_Six little Indian boys playing with a hive; _

_A bumblebee stung one and then there were five. _

_Five little Indian boys going in for law; _

_One got in Chancery and then there were four. _

_Four little Indian boys going out to sea; _

_A red herring swallowed one and then there were three. _

_Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo; _

_A big bear hugged one and then there were two. _

_Two Little Indian boys sitting in the sun; _

_One got frizzled up and then there was one. _

_One little Indian boy left all alone; _

_He went out and hanged himself and then there were none._

A madhouse, to be sure, he told himself. Everyone knows they're called Native Americans now. A soft rapping at the door broke him from his thoughts.

"Who is it?"

"Open up, Jackie."

Rolling his eyes, Jack opened the door and stared at Teague, now in a Hawaiian shirt with flip flops.

"Some pirate convention, eh, Jackie-boy?"

A madhouse, Jack's mind repeated.

"That it is. Fancy we'll all kill each other before it's over with. Cuttlefish."

"Well, before we do, how's about that game of badminton with your old man?"

"Teague…"

"Jackie, I-I don't have all the time in the world anymore. I'm getting up there. It'd be nice to have some quality time with my son."

"I never heard you talk like that before." Thirty-seven years of awkwardness, arguments, abandonments—on both ends, and now this imposing Keeper of the Code was an old man who wanted to play. Badminton at that. There were times when Jack could look into his father's eyes and see what his mum saw in them, sometimes, but every time he'd looked before, they were gone before he'd even had a chance to like what he saw. "You're on, old man."

* * *

Dinner was set at a long, elegant table of cherry wood with Mozart playing in the background, seeing as Mr. Owen felt Rachmaninoff to be ostentatious. The simple but opulent china pattern matched beautifully, with long-stemmed wine glasses finishing off the ensemble with great panache. After the appetizers, small, individual conversations peppered themselves throughout the table. Elizabeth stayed close by her father, clasping his hand and relishing his squeezing back. For a moment, she supposed all the strangeness accompanying this vacation, all the mixed feelings, didn't matter. All that mattered was life over death. She shot her father a loving smile before scanning the dining room once more.

"Oh, the little figures in the centerpiece," she marveled out loud. "They must be from the poem."

"The poem that's on my dresser?" Will asked, eyeing the figures.

"It's on mine, too."

"And on mine."

"Cute little theme," Elizabeth said. "Although I can't see what it has to do with a MacGuffin."

"It's all rather childish, really," James scoffed. Elizabeth bit her lip and narrowed her eyebrows at him.

"Dinner is served!" Ragetti squealed, wheeling out a large cart of covered dishes. Pintel lingered behind him with napkins and bowls. "Lobster with a hearty, thick soup on the side."

Pintel placed the bowls at everyone's place setting and began ladling out the steaming soup. The guests inhaled the rich contents and exhaled in anticipation, grabbing their spoons as Ragetti started laying out the plates.

"Is this a bloody joke?" Jack asked, his spoon crashing onto the bowl with a loud ping.

"What's that, Jack?" Ragetti swallowed.

Jack took hold of his spoon again and dug up a heavy tentacle, flopping it over the rim of the bowl.

"Squid's a delicacy."

"Is it now?" Jack rose and stalked over to Ragetti. "Did the Kraken seem all that delicate when it was reducing the _Pearl _to splinters? Eh? Trying to be funny?"

"No, I…"

"Did it escape that bookish but still empty-headed mind of yours what said tentacled creature did to me?" Jack reached for his pistol. Everyone gasped, except Elizabeth, who kept her hands folded and her head down.

"I didn't think about it! Honest!"

"Just couldn't wait to graduate culinary school and make a fool out of old Jack?" He gripped Ragetti's shirt, almost lifting him off the ground.

"I swear to God, Jack! I was just making dinner! I know it killed you! I was there! I saw it!" he whimpered.

"You were killed?" Teague sputtered.

"Not now," Jack said, still man-handling Ragetti.

"Now, now, everything's back to normal now," Gibbs said, nervously taking hold of his glass. "Let's have a toast to a better future and sit back down."

"You go back in that kitchen and bring out something else. Savvy?"

"Jack!"

"I don't care if it's bloody Spam, Ragetti. I don't care if it's McNuggets. You're going to take this abomination and get it out of my sight and bring me something edible."

"Okay, Jack, okay," Ragetti sobbed, nodding at a frantic pace. "I think there's some potato salad in there. I'll get that. Really, I wasn't trying to make a fool of you." He broke free from Jack's grasp and smoothed his shirt. "I was just trying to make it gourmet. It's a delicacy."

"This is what I think of such delicacies," Jack said, flinging the bowl into the wall.

"Who's up for a song?" Governor Swann spoke up suddenly, his voice shaking, not used to such indecency at a formal dinner. "I am the monarch of the sea/the ruler of the Queen's navy…

* * *

Plates cleared, wine glasses refilled, Elizabeth excused herself into the drawing room, a rectangular room filled with loveseats and floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing her to see the white foam of the sea through the green curtains. If she unfocused her eyes, she could look into her own reflection. Pirate King. Mrs. Turner. Captain. Swann. Lounge singer. Sighing, she placed her fingertips up on the glass, caressing the ghostly face in front of her, promising it more fruitful times.

"Didn't think my outburst would draw you away, love."

"You flatter yourself, Jack," she said without turning, folding her arms. "One might think my newly alive father, my cursed husband, and all of us here in one place for once might have something to do with it."

"Didn't think any of those reasons would be reason for you to run off…unreasonably." The words were light, but his tone was dark, uneasy, she noted, turning slightly to watch him from the corner of her eye. He placed a record on the phonograph and stood over by the window next to her.

_We'll meet again_

_Don't know where_

_Don't know when_

_But I know we'll meet again some sunny day_

_Keep smiling through_

_Just like you always do_

_Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away_

"Turn it off." She shuddered, edging away from him.

"Why? It's a pleasant enough song. I heard a lounge singer at LaGuardia singing it once."

"Don't you think they grow tired of singing the same songs over and over again?" she snapped, looking back out at the sea, where she belonged. Where he belonged. Where they belonged. No, you're a married woman now, and even if you weren't, you're long overdue for shaking off those wild fantasies. Maybe at one time…but not now. Too much is different now.

The others entered, and Elizabeth summoned up a courteous smile, walked past Jack, and joined her father on one of the loveseats, admiring the abstract painting above them. Games of cards started, cigars smoked, chatter filling up the room—Pintel weaved through it all with a tray of coffees, pausing to change the record. Swinging big band music accompanied the party, informal laughter and drinking and the shuffling of cards drowning out even the thunder outside.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, silence please!" _a voice roared. _"You are charged with the following indictments."_

_"Hector Barbossa, you are responsible for the death of Captain Roger Blight. Joshamee Gibbs, all those who lie dead on the Island of the Pelegostos are there because of you. James Norrington, it is by your careless decision making that Weatherby Swann was murdered. Pintel…no first name given…you killed dozens of extras during a Port Royal raid. Ragetti…no first name for you either…ditto. Jack Sparrow, you shot and killed Hector Barbossa straight through the heart. Elizabeth Swann-Turner, one year and two months ago, sent Jack Sparrow to his death. Weatherby Swann, during the Isla de Muerta battle, you killed an innocent, fully sentient hand. John Teague, in a story that would have been fun to write but can't really be elaborated on right now, you murdered Mistress Ching's husband. William Turner, exactly one year ago today, you were responsible for the death of Davy Jones. Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defense?"_

* * *

**A/N: "We'll Meet Again" is featured at the end of _Dr. Strangelove_, so you may have heard it before. Once again, the songs, pop culture references, and POTC aren't mine and this plot is based off of a novel by Agatha Christie. Please leave reviews!**


	3. And Then There Were Nine

The inhuman silence ended with the clanging sound of the coffee tray crashing to the floor, followed by a scream. Several of the men rose and ran to the doorway where Ragetti lay in a swoon.

"I'll get his arms. Captain Teague, you want to help me get him over to the sofa there?" Gibbs asked. The two hoisted him up and tossed him onto the green and white cushions.

"Who was that? Who was that speaking?" Governor Swann trembled. "It wasn't any of us."

Jack leapt to his feet and scoured the room, squinting at the phonograph. He ran over to it and fingered the record on it, his rings scraping against the long, continuous groove. He played it again.

_"Ladies and gentlemen…" _

"Enough already!" Will yelled. "Don't you think once was quite enough?"

"No," Jack said quickly, looking over at Elizabeth. "But that's the answer to your mystery there."

"Bullshit it's the answer! Who the fuck turned it on in the first place?"

"Excellent question, Turner," James said, turning his attention to Ragetti, where Pintel and Gibbs were still looming over him. "Is he all right?"

"Ragetti. Come on, mate. Snap out of it." Pintel gave him a swift slap.

"That voice…" Ragetti murmurered. "That terrible voice…"

"Get over it. It was just a joke, is all. Scared me too."

"You think this is a joke?" James asked with a raised eyebrow. "I hardly think so. Ragetti, maybe you should go on to bed."

"I'll be all right. I was just going to the kitchen to bring out my soufflé for everyone and then… gave me quite the turn. 'And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' Friedrich Nietzsche. Please. Help yourselves to the soufflé. It's delectable."

"Come on," Pintel said, slinging an arm around him. "Captain Barbossa? Gibbs?"

"Sure thing." The two quickly left to help Pintel take Ragetti to his room. Everyone sat in the sweltering silence until they returned.

"Now, Pintel," James said, the Royal Navy suddenly in formation, ready for inspection. "Why did you put on that record?"

"Mr. Owen's instructions, Commodore. I ain't one to shirk my duties."

Both Jack and Barbossa snorted.

"And who is Mr. Owen exactly?"

"He owns the house."

"No shit," Will said. "Who is he?"

"I don't know. I never saw him. Me and Ragetti, after culinary school, decided we wanted to have another go at our immortal souls and seek an honest line of work. We got hired as butler and cook by letter by Mr. Owen. We didn't know until a few days ago we'd know everyone what was coming, you, Commodore, and Turner, and Poppet, and Captain Jack and all…"

"Wait just a minute here," Barbossa said, his hands on his temples. "Does this mean the Trix Rabbit's NOT going to be here?"

"At least your son didn't keep his death a secret from you," Teague said, glaring over at Jack. "Look here, everyone. Is this a pirate convention or not?"

"I'd like to say something, about that hand," Governor Swann said, his eyes on the floor, his back hunched. "That hand was far from innocent. It would have strangled me to death had I not defended myself. I rather resent the slander that I would just go about murdering hands willy-nilly."

"No one suspects you of anything, Father," Elizabeth said, patting his hand.

"Oh? And why don't we?" Barbossa asked.

"He's OLD."

"Elizabeth," Governor Swann started.

"I'm no spring chicken, missy," Barbossa countered.

"Look at him! My father's no murderer. He's…OLD!"

"I'm old," Teague said. "In fact, your Highness, I'd venture to say you're the youngest one here, aren't you? When you've been to more pirate conventions you'll find some of the best pirates are a might seasoned."

"But my father's not a pirate! He's, he's…OLD!"

"All right! Enough," James ordered. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Elizabeth, why are you here?"

"Me? I was invited, hired." Her eyes darted to and fro. "All it said was that there would be several pirates here and I was to captain them all."

"Aren't you a Pirate King or something now? Aren't you too busy to be doing that sort of thing?"

"None of your business!" she snapped, standing. "I heard the record the same as you. Your selfishness and ambition led to my father's death, and as for Jack…" She locked eyes with him for an instant. "You all knew what happened before. It's no secret."

"I didn't know about it," her father said, raising his hand.

"Anyway, Jack is right here with us, accused right along with us, so if my trustworthiness is in question…" She pulled the letter out of her pocket and let it flutter onto James' chest. "There. Mr. Owen wanted me here for the exact reasons I said."

James skimmed Elizabeth's letter. Will bounded over and read it over his shoulder.

"That's the same name that was in my letter, about the Port Royal reparations. That's why I thought we were all here, except Barbossa, Jack, Teague, Pintel, Ragetti, Gibbs…well, that's why I thought the decent members of this group were here. Mr. Owen. Ulick Norman Owen."

"I think I know what's going on here," James said, paling. "U. N. Owen. Now say it phonetically. Unknown!"

"Are you saying we were all invited here by some unknown madman?" Governor Swann said, standing.

"I don't know, sir. I only know that none of us were invited here for the reasons stated in our letters. I too was invited here by Mr. Owen, on the promise of reparations just like Turner. It disturbs me that whoever wrote this letter knew me well enough to know about my past and knew me well enough to know I'd respond."

"So no Trix Rabbit," Barbossa sighed.

"In that case," Jack said, standing with a heavy sigh. "If one of you would be so good to pay up, Mr. Gibbs and I will be leaving as soon as the boatman comes in the morning with the newspaper and the mail."

"I propose we all leave," Will said, trying to cross his legs with the buckets still strapped to them. "It sounds like some madman did indeed invite us here. Only a madman, probably a French one at that, would dare think anything wrong of me stabbing the heart of Davy Jones. It had to be done and we're all better off for it, aren't we? The seas are definitely better at any rate."

"Nor would anyone but a madman think it was wrong of me to suffocate that hand in the drawer," Governor Swann said. "But there is something I'd like to know. Captain Barbossa, who is Robert Blight?"

"That's how I got my lordship," Barbossa said. "After I took the _Pearl _the first time, we traveled to the Caspian Sea. Not much to offer, small sea, but the pirate lord there was a might powerful one and was anxious to increase his fleet. Even with us immortal and the _Pearl _unstoppable, he almost sacked us."

"What happened then?" Elizabeth asked.

"We swung onto his deck and I slit his throat, as any good pirate would do." His guiltless eyes looked into hers. "You'd know about that, wouldn't you, missy? What it takes to be a good pirate?"

"Roger Blight wasn't nearly as powerful as all that," Gibbs scoffed. "More likely you killed him in cold blood just to be a pirate lord."

"At least I didn't lose me crew to cannibals," Barbossa said.

"First mate can't save everyone!" Gibbs barked. "There we were, dangling above, fighting for our lives. You try it sometime and see how many deaths you can prevent. I didn't shove anyone over to them to spare me self. This Mr. Owen ought to know that. Bah! A fart on Mr. Owen!"

"I want to say something," Pintel gulped, waiting for James' permission. "I ain't the more eloquent one, Ragetti in bed and all, but when we was raiding Port Royal, that was for the Aztec piece of gold. Yeah, the pillaging and terrorizing was fun, but it was with good reason! Pirates. That's what pirates do. Me and Ragetti got nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, we's been trying to become even better people since."

"Well," James cleared his throat as if waiting for his troops' undivided attention. "What I suggest is we all go to bed, lock our doors, and hop on the boat first thing in the morning. I, for one, do not wish to be harassed by some lunatic."

"Pansy," Teague coughed.

"Pansy? You're looking at a pirate hunter, sir," James said, crossing to Teague. "I've killed more of your lot than you'll ever know. And anyway I don't recall you defending your position."

"No need," Teague snickered. "I killed Ching. I've killed a lot of people, but I'm honest about it. Ching and I had an affair a few years after I lost Jackie's mum. I was distraught, lonely, mad with grief. I wasn't the best partner to her, after all, and wasn't there for her and it just let off some steam, being with that piece of work. Let me tell you… the positions that woman knows. Anyway, before you all look like you're going to vomit up dinner, I didn't flat out murder him. I was out on the ship, impressing her, and we saw a ship out in the horizon. Well she started clapping her hands and was saying all this shit about how she'd "love me long time" if I sacked it. So I did. I threw everything I had at it, and it sunk all right. That Asian minx got me to kill her husband for her without so much as lifting a finger. Pirate. So this Mr. Owen fellow, he can call me a murderer all he wants. It's true, but not in that case. If you all want to leave, go back to your mundane lives, be my guest. But me? I've been just sitting and waiting this whole year. All I do is reenact that battle of the Brethren Court in me mind, eager for something else to come like that. Now I'm here, I spent some time with my son, and I'm ready for adventure. Some excitement! I look at all of you, and I see that same fire. Let's shake things up! Let's stay and solve the mystery! It'll be like _Scooby-Doo_!" With that, he chugged the rest of his wine and set it down hard on the card table.

"Teague, I…Teague?" Jack trailed off, watching his father's face grow a nauseating purple. Gagging, Teague's knees thudded to the floor. He clawed at his throat, his attempted coughs mere gasps for air. At last he gave out breath and slumped to the floor.

"Good God!" Barbossa ran over to him. "He's dead!"

"What?" Jack fumed.

"He's dead."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth. She gazed up at Jack with reluctant eyes, his face still filled with denial. She did a double take at her father, of all people, reaching up and helping Jack settle himself on the loveseat. With tentative movements, James and Will carried the body upstairs.

"I'm sorry." She reached over and stretched her hand out over his. It hadn't been that long since the same pain had stung her. There was nothing her body urged her to do more than scoot closer to him and wrap her arms around him, to save him once after he had repeatedly saved her. Concentrating all the urges into her hand, she curled her fingers around him until she had his hand clasped safely in her own.

Barbossa, meanwhile, leaned over the discarded wine glass and picked it up, swirling around the remaining contents, the rest a dark red stain on the floor.

"Cyanide."

"He poisoned himself?" Pintel blurted.

"No, he didn't poison himself, you worthless git," Jack whispered. "The man was a _Scooby-Doo _enthusiast. His words were more than sincere."

"Captain Teague was as optimistic a man as I ever knew," Elizabeth spoke up, defending Jack, shielding him the only way she could. "Poisoning himself would be as logical a conclusion to draw as concluding Paris Hilton is a closeted rocket scientist."

"Who's a rocket scientist?" Will asked, coming back into the room with the others. Elizabeth slid away from Jack, her hand still on him.

"Apparently there was cyanide in Teague's drink," Barbossa said.

"All right, that's it." James threw up his hands. "I'm calling it a night and getting out of here first thing in the morning. If any of you have so much as a drop of common sense, you'll do the same. Good night."

Slowly, they ascended the stairs with heavy legs and entered their rooms.

"Elizabeth?"

"Will?"

"Do you want to share a room?" They looked each other up and down, the same judging, bewildered looks she thought would vanish once they were married. Wordlessly, they broke eye contact and entered their respective rooms, hearing each door down the hall lock.

* * *

Blight, so virile and hedonistic. Barbossa tossed and turned in his sleep. It was the greatest injustice in the world that someone like that should even possess a ship without really loving it, really contemplating its power when he himself had not even been able to feel, not the wind or the spray of the sea or the softness of a woman's flesh. The only perk of the curse was immortality, and Barbossa wielded it like a true creature of legend, his crew a Biblical pestilence on Blight's ship. All it took to finish off the surprised captain was a quick flick of the cutlass, the spilling of blood, and pirate lordship was his.

* * *

Downstairs, Pintel skipped to "Whistle While You Work" on his iPod, brushing the feather duster over the tops of each of the dining room chairs. Captain Teague dead. Fancy that. Who would be the Keeper of the Code now? The dog? A sea turtle? Maybe that would be legitimate-enough work for him and Ragetti. Between the two of them, they knew how to read. Ragetti had just finished _Green Eggs and Ham _while Pintel was busy on _The Very Hungry Caterpillar. _Surely the Code couldn't be anymore difficult to read than that.

Leaning over the table, he dusted through the little Indian figures.

"Wait a tick," he said to himself, pausing his iPod. "Weren't there ten before? Now there are only nine."

* * *

**A/N: "A fart on x..." is actually a line from the amazing play _The Crucible. _I told you there would be deaths, but this isn't really a story to take all that seriously. Think of it as the cast of POTC doing an elaborate skit for your entertainment. At least I hope you're entertained. **


	4. And Then There Were Eight

Jack woke to the sound of rain spattering on the gables of the house. Sitting up in bed, he stretched and yawned, and then reached for his pistol. The day's itinerary listed limbo after breakfast. A wave of sentimentality and tenderness washed over him at the recollection of what all happened last night. He'd win for his father. Oh, bugger, his eyes widened. Winning a limbo contest would be nothing next to what would be in Teague's will once he returned to Shipwreck Cove. "To my beloved but bull-headed son Jackie, I leave the Code of the Brethren. Keep it."

Grunting, he threw on his shirt and coat and marched down the stairs to the dining room where most of the guests were already assembled. He plopped into his seat and checked his cereal for tentacles.

"Cold cereal?" he muttered.

"Don't sound so spoiled, Jack," Barbossa growled. "This is Wheaties, and let me tell you, had this whole MacGuffin Island/Mr. Owen business been on the level, you'd see my face on that box, so just shut your trap and eat like a good boy and I'll turn cartoons on for you."

"I know you're old, but there's no need to treat me like a child to emphasize it," Jack retorted, secretly wondering what Phineas and Ferb would be up to today.

"Is the boat not here yet?" Elizabeth asked, coming down the stairs, her hair tossed and a pink cotton bathrobe over her silk nightgown. Don't get up and kiss her. Don't get up and kiss her, Jack chanted in his mind. Throw her over your shoulder and have your way with her on the beach instead. No! Think unsexy thoughts. Phineas and Ferb. Phineas and Ferb.

"No. It might have some trouble coming out on account of the storm," Barbossa said. "Have some cereal with a generic professional athlete on the box instead of me."

"Don't you think people would lose their appetite if they saw you on the box?" she asked. Jack pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

* * *

Will was just about to open the door to go downstairs for breakfast when he heard frantic running. Mr. Owen! He threw open every drawer in his dresser, desperate for a sword, but saw nothing but linens and boxers. Cursing, he heard the door to the room on his left open. Barbossa's room.

"Captain Barbossa?" he heard when he pressed his ear to the wall. The frenzied footsteps recommenced and flew down the stairs.

"Pintel."

"Oh! Morning, Turner. Have you seen Barbossa?"

"No. What's the hurry? Is the boat here?"

"Oh, Turner. It's Ragetti! Barbossa's got to examine him."

"Why Barbossa?"

"He's the only one with a medical degree."

That stopped Will dead in his tracks. Blinking a few times, he sprinted down the stairs just in time to see Barbossa slide out of his chair and follow Pintel to Ragetti's room.

"What do you suppose could be wrong?" Elizabeth asked, finished with her cereal and bringing the bowl to her lips to swallow the milk.

"I don't know. Don't worry. Why don't we play a game to pass the time?" He sat down and poured himself some Wheaties. "Twenty Questions is a good one. It doesn't require any supplies. Okay. I'm thinking of an object…"

"Is it a sword?" Jack groaned.

"Damn it," Will blurted.

The others joined them in a quiet breakfast, each of them keeping one eye on the staircase. At last Barbossa and Pintel came down, the latter scurrying into the kitchen.

"He's going to be a bit on edge today. Ragetti's dead."

James spit out his cereal.

"A dead man made my cereal?"

"No, the factory workers at General Mills, who are alive and well, made your cereal," Barbossa said. "Uh…not to point fingers or stir up trouble, but it was cyanide poisoning."

"Are you kidding me?" James said. "That's two now. Are we on a cyanide farm? Did he kill himself?"

"How would I know?"

"He'd seemed so proud of his meal," Governor Swann sighed. "Whatever could have caused him to drink cyanide?"

"Did he have a cup by his bed or anything?"

"Didn't see one."

"I bet you he had a cup of tea," Will said. "Maybe he got up in the middle of the night, poured himself some tea…"

"…and offed himself? Honestly, Will, just shut up," Elizabeth said. "Something strange is going on."

"It's likely Pintel bumped him off," Jack said. "What? We all saw how he freaked at the Port Royal raid being mentioned. Pintel probably killed him to keep him quiet."

"But we already knew all about it," Barbossa argued.

"But he's an idiot," Jack countered.

"Sh, here comes Pintel. Don't act weird," Gibbs hushed them. Pintel walked by, his head down, sulking. "Sorry your best friend died in a really peculiar and suspicious way without even bothering to tell you goodbye!"

Pintel burst into tears and ran out the door.

"If that's your definition of not acting weird, Mr. Gibbs…" Jack shook his head.

"It ain't. I just couldn't help it."

* * *

Something strange indeed was going on, Will thought, standing out on the terrace, remembering Elizabeth's words. It had gnawed on him all throughout breakfast and now during the limbo contest. Bob Marley music played on the phonograph as he waited in line for his turn to go underneath the limbo stick. He turned behind him to Barbossa.

"How is it you have a medical degree?"

"I'm a man of many talents. I also have an Oscar."

"Well, what do you make of all this? Two deaths within twenty-four hours, both poisonings."

"It does put one in a quandary," Barbossa said. "I don't believe for a second John Teague killed himself. Now, Ragetti, on the other hand…"

"I don't."

"And two accidental deaths is just too much to swallow."

"Just like they swallowed too much cyanide." Both men started to laugh until they realized the morbidity of what was just said.

"That only leaves one conclusion," Will said. "They were murdered."

"By who? We were all right there."

"You remember what Norrington said last night. He wasn't interested in becoming the victim of a madman. Mr. Owen. Who's to say Mr. Owen isn't hiding out here somewhere? It's a rocky island. He could be in a cave somewhere, sharpening his sword, watching it glitter, fingering the smooth blade…"

"I get the picture."

"We had all just been accused of murder. Anyone could sneak around in this big house and bump us all off."

"It's plausible. That's using the old noodle, Turner." Barbossa patted his back. "You've come a long way from that whole stupid 'you-can't-die-but-I-can" crap you used to pull. Let's search the island. It's not that big and it's mostly bare rock."

"I hate to suggest it, but let's get Jack into this." Will pointed up to where Jack successfully limboed underneath the limbo stick. "He's a good shot, cunning, and he's flexible."

They broke away from the game and approached Jack about the situation.

"I've thought the same thing," he admitted with slumped shoulders. Since when were William and Barbossa on the same page as he was? "And I brought me pistol." He turned his neck from one appalled face to another as if he were watching a tennis match. "Oy! It ain't my fault you didn't bring weapons. If you recall, I was hired on for my skills."

"You're the only one on this island with a pistol?" Will asked.

"According to her letter, your murderous bonnie lass should have one as well."

"Her letter said weapons would be provided. You're the only one, Jack."

"Maybe I should be on the Wheaties box then." He shot Barbossa a grin and led the way back into the house.

* * *

"I brought you some hot chocolate, Father," Elizabeth said, giving her father one of the cups, a curl of smoke circling up around it like a wreath. Governor Swann sat back in a folding lawn chair under the awning, watching the sea.

"The boat's not coming."

"How can you tell? I'm sure it will come once the rain stops."

"Elizabeth, I took pleasure in defeating that hand."

"What?" She sat on the ground next to his chair.

"Yes. I've never been in battles or wars before, not like you. I've never been a 'field man' as they say, and, well, next to men like Norrington, and even Will, I always felt the lesser."

"You're a politician! You have to be brave every day. You make so many decisions and you have to not care what everyone thinks of you," she argued. "That hand had it coming, Father. It belonged to a pirate that would have gladly killed you."

"True, but I shouldn't have felt the sense of accomplishment I felt when I did it." He looked her in the eyes and cupped her chin. "Please tell me you didn't feel the same way when you killed Captain Sparrow."

"Father, that was…" Sighing, she unfolded another chair, took her father's hands, and told him the whole story.

* * *

Jack, Will, and Barbossa emerged from the basement of the house covered in cobwebs and smudges. Since only Jack had thought to bring any kind of weapon, Will nabbed one of the kitchen's steak knives and Barbossa held the cricket bat at the ready.

"What if this Mr. Owen isn't able to be killed?" Will thought out loud.

"Everything's killable one way or another," Jack answered.

"But what if he's already dead, like a ghost?"

Barbossa and Jack turned back to Will, not knowing whether to laugh or smack him.

"I have a theory," Will said. "This island is full of ghost stories. What if one of them just likes killing living people for kicks? Giggles?"

"What about the cyanide?" Barbossa asked. "Landowners have cyanide. Ghosts?"

"This is a person, William," Jack sighed, his palm hitting his forehead. "But if you want to get out the Ouija board later for peace of mind while the rest of us are on the boat getting the hell out of here, you're welcome to it. They might like someone to talk to."

* * *

"I have so many questions," Governor Swann gasped after hearing Elizabeth's story. "What about the mark Jack left on Beckett? Is Will free after ten years if you remain faithful, or is he cursed for all time? What was the point of releasing Calypso if she was just going to be chaotically neutral and cause a maelstrom where anyone could die?"

"These are questions a lot of people have, Father," Elizabeth said, leaning over and resting her head on him. "I'm not sure anyone who knows the answers feels like explaining them. But a year's gone by and…and…"

"Yes?"

"The Brethren Court voted me out. They realized just how easy it was to have an actual King and voted me out on the grounds a woman has no political savvy!"

"But you won a battle! You made the seas free for free men…and avenged me, which is quite touching."

"Yes, but now Armand the Corsair is King. When Will left, I was all alone. I had nowhere to go and no way of getting a hold of anyone. I went looking for work and being a lone pirate without a ship is far from lucrative. Then one day there was this Help Wanted sign at the airport and I thought, 'Elizabeth Swann-Turner, pilot.' It would have been a dream job! But they wanted a lounge singer. And I've been doing that ever since."

"My dear child." Governor Swann threw his arms around her. "It's going to be all right. You're going to make it and be happier than you ever thought you could be."

"What are you saying?" She broke away just enough to read his face.

"Trust me. All of us have been brought together for a reason." He kissed her forehead. "I've seen the two of you together. You'll be happy."

"Father, I don't know. Will and I are already growing apart and I'm not sure…"

"That wasn't really what I meant, but…"

"Governor Swann, Elizabeth," James said, coming up behind them. "I have to apologize for my actions that led to your death, sir."

"We were having a moment," Elizabeth growled.

"It's all right, Commodore," Governor Swann said. "We can't always predict the consequences of our actions. Besides, we both have a clean slate now. Why don't we make the best of things? The boat's not coming. We'll all start a new life here. We'll all have jobs to earn our keep and form a society. I'll be the limbo instructor. Elizabeth, I'm not trying to be sexist, seeing as how sexism ruined your career, but you'll have to be procreating for a while. But don't worry; I'm sure once you realize what you really want, you won't mind so much." He gave her a wink Elizabeth could only describe as creepy. "And Norrington, well, how does Commodore of MacGuffin Island sound to you?"

"Er, fantastic, sir. I just wanted to say I was sorry and that I would be more than happy to watch for the boat if you wanted to go inside."

"Nonsense. I'm quite comfortable out here. Now, both of you go and leave me be for a while. You have your character arcs to develop, after all." He eased back in the lawn chair, watching them disappear behind the jutted out corner of the house and breathed a deep sigh.

* * *

Spending the day with Jack and Will exhausted Barbossa more than he had ever thought possible, but he surmised an exploration of the house and the island was at least a useful activity. There was no Gothic, foreboding nature of the house, just a large one with several upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, attic space, servants' quarters downstairs with the foyer, living room, kitchen, dining room, half bathroom, laundry room, sitting room…okay, it was a huge house. But that didn't mean it was one of the looming haunted houses of literature where awful things were bound to happen just by looking at it. It was harmless in and of itself, much as Blight had been. Just sailing along, his crew swabbing the deck in perfect unison, belting out Gilbert and Sullivan classics while he pranced around at the helm…not suspecting the _Black Pearl_'s unprovoked wrath.

"Five, six, seven…that ain't right. Ain't right at all," he heard, breaking him away from his memories.

"Pintel? What are you babbling about?" Barbossa crossed into the house from the porch and found Pintel pacing around the dining room table.

"It's driving me up the wall, Captain! These figures on the table." He slammed his hand near the centerpiece with the little figures. "Could've sworn there were ten."

"There were. The young miss pointed it out to us at dinner, remember? You'd think you'd pay more attention to the only female on the island." Barbossa shot him a suspicious look.

"Count 'em now! Last night there was nine but now there are only eight! Only eight!"

* * *

**A/N: Do not own!**


	5. And Then There Were Seven

Who brings a pistol with them to an island on vacation, Will's mind muttered to himself, standing in the sitting room, watching the rain fall even harder. He hardly noticed Barbossa come through from the kitchen, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Oh, Pintel's nonsense about some missing figures on the table," Barbossa said. "The ones we counted last night that go along with that poem."

"Oh yeah, 'ten little Indian boys going out to dine/one choked his little self and then there were nine' or something like that," Will recited. "'Nine little Indian boys sat up very late/One overslept and then there were eight.' Huh. Much like here." His eyes widened. "Those French ghosts are killing us according to the poem!"

"What?" Barbossa had planned on plopping down into one of the loveseats with the latest issue of _GQ_, but his knees locked on him.

"The ghosts, Barbossa, the ghosts! We didn't find anyone on the island earlier today and you and Jack laughed at me, but who's the nutjob now, huh? Who's the nutjob now?" Will jabbed his finger into Barbossa's chest. "It all makes sense. These ghosts, French bastards, invited us here and are bumping us off one right after the other. Just you wait and see. 'Choked his little self?' 'Overslept?' I knew they had a taste for the grim, but I never suspected this."

"I think you're half right, lad, mostly about the poem," Barbossa said, contemplating. "Why don't you, er, keep the ghost theory to yourself for right now, hmm? Don't want to go off scaring anyone."

About to argue that important information needs to be shared, the dining room gong echoed throughout the house.

"The house has a gong?" Will asked, starting for the dining room.

"Apparently."

They assembled with the rest of the guests, taking their seats and taking their portions of cold ham and cheese from Pintel's tray.

"Where's Governor Swann?" Gibbs asked.

"He had wanted us to go in while he stayed and got some air," Elizabeth said, twisting to look out the window, anxiety written all over her face. "James, did you go back to him after you and I split up?"

"No. I didn't see him after that. Didn't you go back for him?"

"No."

"I'm surrounded by morons," Barbossa grumbled. "I'll go out and get him. Leaving the governor out in the rain while there are murders going around… If someone gets done in, it's your fault, missy!"

"Nobody's dead, you overgrown caricature!" she yelled at him on his way out the door. "Father's innocent of this whole mess! For God's sake, he's OLD!" She sat back down and stuffed her sandwich into her mouth, tearing it with her teeth the same way a lion cuts its prey.

"Storm's coming," Gibbs said, changing the subject. "Reminds me of the time there was a storm last month…of course, nearly all storms are pretty much the same. Let's not talk about death or anything like that for a while. Something less bothersome. Something less controversial. How does everyone here feel about countries having nuclear arsenals?"

Before anyone could answer, footsteps thudded outside. Jack straightened and armed his pistol.

"Ghosts," Will whispered.

Barbossa closed the door behind him and braced his back against it, wiping his sweaty forehead, desperate to catch his breath.

"It's the governor. He's, he's…"

"Dead," Elizabeth gasped, her head sinking into her hands on the table. "Again."

"Damndest thing," Barbossa said, sitting back down and biting into his sandwich. A few dry bread crumbs spilled out of his mouth as he talked. "There he was, sitting in that lawn chair, and I keep calling over to him, 'Hey! Soup's on!' but he didn't move. Got closer—someone knocked him in the head with a life preserver."

"Ironic," James noted.

"At least it wasn't an oar," Jack and Will said at the same time, glaring at each other.

"'Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon/one said he'd stay there and then there were seven,'" Elizabeth said, so cryptically everyone stopped to stare at her. "It's the poem. Father mentioned the boat wasn't coming. He stayed in his spot. Well? What are you all standing around for? You're going to late a dead body soak up the rain? Go bring him inside!"

The men looked at each other, shrugged, and rose to go retrieve the remains of Governor Swann.

* * *

"Gibbs, Will, Sparrow, we're all in here," James called to them from the sitting room, gesturing. He stood with his hands behind his back, the others sitting at either side of him.

"How is it you got out of that filthy job?" Gibbs heaved, sinking into one of the chairs. "You're younger than me. You ought to have been the one out there lifting that stiff. Sorry, Miss Elizabeth."

"Unlike you, Gibbs, I have the gift of intelligence that has allowed me to draw a very real, but very unsettling conclusion. I know what's happening here."

"Glad someone does," Pintel sighed. "I don't think I can keep up with this itin-ary at all." He shook the itinerary in his hands. "Drunken debauchery, sure, but luau night, hula lessons, beach-side yoga—all by me-self…just don't think I could do it without Ragetti."

"Ahem, there are more pressing matters at hand," James said. "Now, we all determined we were invited by a Mr. Owen to this island for various reasons, none of us expecting to see each other. In the course of twenty-four hours, three people are dead, two from cyanide poisoning, one from bludgeoning. With a life preserver. Can't get over the irony there," he stifled a chuckle. "Anyway, I take it a search of the island has been done?"

"This morning," Will said, raising his hand. "Me, Jack, and Barbossa combed the island looking for anything out of the ordinary."

"And?"

"No other person or obvious hiding place, but look what Jack found! Show him, Jack."

Reluctantly, Jack waved the seashell he found, flipping it in his hand so everyone could see the front and the back.

"Had a hermit crab once. This reminded me of him."

"That was it?" James said.

"I'll have you know my father gave me that crab before he became a deadbeat dad," Jack argued. "Now since you're playing detective, you better have something significant for all of us, or I'm going up to my room for some rum and John Grisham."

"All right. So your search wound up empty. Well, since there is no one else on the island and I think we all unanimously believe none of the deaths were suicides, there is no alternative. Mr. Owen is one of us!"

A loud clap of thunder answered him, sending the guests jumping.

"That can't be!" Elizabeth argued.

"What else could it be?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "Losing my father twice in the span of a year is clearly interfering with my thought process. Isn't there anyone we can at least eliminate? Me, for instance?"

"Why you?" Barbossa asked. "You're not OLD."

"Well, well, I'm…I'm…the Pirate King. Yeah." She nodded at a spastic pace. "Above suspicion."

"You can eliminate me, too," Will said. "I have a more important job than anyone else here, captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. You don't want to suspect me when I'll be the one picking up your body later on."

"I too am a professional, and may I say, the only non-pirate here!" James shouted. "We have to suspect everyone, regardless of rank, sex, or station. Sorry I brought that up. Now, what about motives, opportunity, that sort of thing? Facts? Work with me here, guys! I'm trying to get us all saved. Well, except for Turner." James laughed. "Unless your wife brought the chest and key, you're safe."

Elizabeth gulped.

"Elizabeth?" Will stood over her. "You didn't bring the chest, did you? Tell me you didn't bring the chest that contains my heart by which stabbing it is the ONLY way in this whole world to possibly kill me. Tell me you brought another chest, maybe with clothes or keepsakes in it instead?"

"Will, you asked me to keep it safe. I figured it couldn't be safer if it was with me. Don't panic. It's in my room, which is locked."

Will howled out a mock laugh and stomped back to his chair.

"Keep it safe, the one thing I asked you to do. Keep it safe," he mumbled.

"Okay, so we're all at risk," James said, once again taking charge. "We must be very careful. Someone here is a ruthless, psychopathic killer and the others potentially pawns."

"Pawns would indicate we're all working for said ruthless, psychopathic killer," Jack said.

"Oh, er, thanks for chiming in there, Sparrow. I mean, the others potentially bystanders."

"Bystanders would indicate none of us are going to do anything about the situation," Elizabeth said.

"SHUT UP, ELIZABETH!" Will fumed, thrusting himself so erratically he tipped his chair over, a few drops of water from his strapped-on buckets staining the carpet. "I am so sick of all the shit you put me through. First I abandon all my principles to save you and you can't even get rescued right. Then all you had to do was stay in jail while I brought back the compass, but we all know how that worked out, don't we? Bad enough you go around cheating on me, claiming it's to save me, but then you keep it a secret from me! What was I supposed to assume? You were so depressed over the guy who screwed us both over more times than we can count? Pirate King? Pirate King! You? The Brethren Court's lucky you didn't just take them on a field trip to Captain Kidd's treasure or something like that. Now I find out you bring my chest, the dead man's chest that started all this crap in the first place, to the island where someone is trying to kill us all! Great job!"

"Anything else?" Elizabeth asked with a fire in her eyes so scorching it was a wonder Will didn't burst into flames on the spot.

"That's plenty for now, you pirate-kissing orphan!"

"Don't fret, William, I'm sure your French ghosts are unable to unlock a chest seeing as how they don't have bodies," Jack sang from the opposite end of the room. Barbossa snorted before turning back to James. "That's your advice, Commodore? Just be careful?"

"I don't see what else we can do for right now. Until the boat comes…"

"No boat's going to try it in this storm," Gibbs spoke up. "If Mr. Owen's as prepared as you implied him to be, he's probably told the boatman not to come and to ignore any signals we might send out."

"We'll have to be extra careful then," James said.

* * *

How did she always find herself near him, Elizabeth thought to herself, sharing the window ledge cushion with Jack, the others in the same room, but distanced. Pintel was in the kitchen, doing dishes or some other domestic work, she guessed. She had turned her neck to speak to Jack several times, but no words came out.

"If it is one of us, who do you think it is?" she asked him, her fingers tracing the cushion stitching.

"You want to play that game, darling?"

"Beats Twenty Questions."

"Point taken. Well, I know I'm not the murderer and, God help me, I don't think you are, either. Something's different with you, Lizzie. It's like something's already slowly killing you." He shifted, facing her more than he was, waiting for her to speak. "Have you had any adventures this last year at all?"

"Of course," she sputtered. "You're avoiding the question."

"So I am." He nodded. "Norrington."

"James? Why?"

"Because I don't like him." He waited for her surprised face before laughing and elbowing her slightly. "Just having a bit of fun with you. But I really do suspect him. All those years of prestige and discipline and now his closest associates are all pirates? Bound to get to one eventually. Besides, we all know what he's willing to do for what he thinks is the right course of action, that heart stealer. I take it you don't share that suspicion?"

"I just hadn't thought about it, but I have my own ideas," she said.

"Such as?"

"Barbossa," she said without hesitation. "He has a medical degree…somehow, and the first two deaths were poison. That points to a doctor, doesn't it? Someone with medical knowledge?"

"Could be…" Jack pondered the thought. If she was right, he could have an excuse to shoot Barbossa a second time!

"And think about this—he could tell us how long someone's been dead and none of us would know any different."

"When did he kill your father, though?" He sat back, scooting closer to her. "He spent most of the day with me, love. Unfortunate for me and your theory, but fortunate for his alibi."

"He did it later, when he went to go get him for lunch."

They locked eyes, immersed in the analysis, each one wondering how much of a force they would be if they formed an open alliance with each other at that very moment, forgetting the past, betrayals, marriages, soul-stirring, mind-erasing, knee-buckling kisses…

"That's very interesting," Jack said to himself, glancing over at Barbossa and then at Norrington.

* * *

"One of us. What's he know?" Pintel shouted over the vacuum cleaner. "Pick your feet up, Turner!"

Will heaved his buckets up onto the footstool to let Pintel vacuum under him.

"I'm right here, Pintel," James said, also picking up his feet as Pintel vacuumed by. "If you don't like my theory, fine, but gossip and stupidity are the last things we need."

"One of us," he kept repeating. "Leave it to me to start listening to Ragetti's hocus pocus about souls and salvation and now me life's in mortal peril."

"All our lives are in mortal peril," Will sighed. Thanks to Elizabeth. Wait a minute. He could just leap back onto the _Dutchman_, couldn't he? He had seen Davy Jones appear from place to place. He closed his eyes and pictured his ship. The crew on duty would be comforting those salvaged from the sea, his father briefing them on the lovely afterlife that awaited them. Off duty, the fitness program was thriving, a few members of the crew leading aerobics and water ballet in the pool Will installed his first week on the job.

"MacGuffin Island doesn't do magic," Pintel said, unplugging the vacuum.

"You mean to say I can't leave here supernaturally?" Will pouted. "If magic doesn't work around here, then shouldn't I be fine if someone stabs the heart?"

"It's a living, beating heart, Turner. Nothing supernatural about that." James rolled his eyes and wondered how hard it would be to learn how to roll a joint. Surely one of these degenerates knew how to accomplish such a thing…

Nothing supernatural about it except that it's been dislodged from my body, Will wanted to say, but sat back and exhaled instead. There was no use arguing with someone probably even more helpless in this situation than he was.

* * *

Gibbs sat in his room, a compress against his forehead to soothe his headache. He was at the desk, writing in his log. Jack had already died once, he'd figured, so there was no time like the present to start a captain's log, just in case.

_Dear Diary,_

_Something terrible has happened (in addition to Teague and Ragetti's deaths). Governor Swann is now dead again, poor sot. Some people just don't have any luck with that sort of thing. The Commodore thinks it's one of us. Logically, he's right, but it's a lot to take in. I remember once, back in the days of the Navy when…guess I probably should save my stories for when other people's around. Poor Miss Elizabeth. But I know who it really is._

Gibbs yawned and then groaned at the panging in his head. He wrote in a shaky hand, "The murderer is the Pelegostos."

Shaking his head, he blinked and marked out the sentence.

* * *

"What on earth are you doing, Barbossa?" James entered the foyer to catch Barbossa at the secretary desk, penning out a letter with rapid fluidity.

"I'm writing to General Mills. Then I'm going to roll this up, place it in an empty rum bottle, and fling it out to sea. Someone will find it. "

Simultaneously, they broke into song.

_I'll send an SOS to the world  
I'll send an SOS to the world  
I hope that someone gets my  
Message in a bottle  
_

"I think in the history of mankind, only one person has ever found a message in a bottle," James said wistfully.

"They don't make songs like that anymore," Barbossa noted. "Say, Commodore, how is it you've been so calm in all this? Almost as if you know who did it."

"Oh, I think the facts clearly indicate who's responsible." James took a seat on the steps leading upstairs. "If you would just take a moment to sit and think, I feel you would know, too."

* * *

**A/N: I still love Elizabeth, but she did need to hear that little rant. I hope you like the formula and format of the story. Besides all the piracy and anachronisms, I feel this is a pretty faithful adaptation, much more faithful than some actual screen adaptations of _And Then There Were None _anyway. "Message in a Bottle" is a Police song. Whether you've read the book or not, do you know who did it? If you'd like to tell me who you suspect in a review, you are more than welcome to, but I do request you don't say your reasons. In the case that you're right, you might have spotted evidence other people didn't and thus would be giving away plot twists. Just type, "I suspect x" and leave it at that, please. If you don't suspect anyone as of yet, don't feel stupid. I was completely blindsighted when I first read the book and bought into something Agatha Christie purposely threw in to throw her readers off track. She's very good at that, genius that she was. Do not own!**


	6. And Then There Were Six and Five

"Jack."

Jack found Gibbs waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, his head cocked in the direction of the sitting room.

"We're all looking through the, er, Mr. Owen's DVD library, figured a movie might help settle everyone's nerves. You in?"

"If I wasn't and isolated myself, I'm liable to get me head chopped off, aren't I?" Jack cringed at the idea of watching anything with some of the other guests. "Been able to scrounge anything up?"

"It's not much of a selection. The only movie in the house is _Twilight_, but Will's popping some popcorn and the lights are dimmed. Who knows? I hear the vampires play baseball in this one. That's got to be riveting, right? Plus we're all in the same room together, except Pintel. He's started talking to those figurines on the dining room table. Bloke's probably gone a little mad losing his friend."

"Vampires playing baseball?"

The thunder roared outside.

Jack wedged himself into the middle of a large sectional couch with the others, the soft glow emitting from the big-screen TV illuminating every face with a faint blue glow.

"Here's the popcorn!" Will announced, sloshing around with his buckets as he passed out bowls.

"Oh good. I need something to go with my Skittles," Elizabeth said, rising up just enough to reach Will, her Skittles pouch in hand. Leaning forward to take her bowl, she dumped a few out. Will skirted back, only to spill some of the popcorn on her.

"You got Skittles in my popcorn!"

"You got popcorn in my Skittles!"

They flared violent daggers at each other, Jack noticed. Still a might sour about her bringing the chest with her, he concluded. Wondering if he would have to break up the shortest fistfight he'd ever seen (his money being on Elizabeth making short work of William), they returned to their respective seats and glued their eyes to the screen in stubborn apathy.

* * *

Mind-numbing, Elizabeth thought the next morning. How on earth could anyone think Edward Cullen had a personality, much less made good boyfriend material? Same goes for Bella, that Mary-Sue. After ages of failing to understand loads of internet chatter and Burger King commercials, she finally understood the term "Team Jacob" and couldn't wait to sign up for it. Yes, the movie was abysmal, but that never stopped her from enjoying herself before. So many jokes came to mind about how fun being eternally damned must be, how empty Bella's head must be for Edward not to be able to read it, and Charlie Swan's love of plaid…and Billy Black. At least they spelled their last name differently than she did. It was all Will's fault she couldn't riff it with malicious glee. All because she was trying to protect the chest. No one else on the island, not even Will himself, knew it was stuffed on the top shelf of her closet.

She tossed in bed in the direction of her bedside table. Fifteen past ten? Good Lord. She sprang from her bed and dug out some clothes to wear, appropriate pirate-y blouses and trousers and boots, not the sequined chiffon dresses from work, some of them even sporting rhinestones. No, she would take any measure possible to ensure she would not be returning to that job.

Looking both ways down the hall before exiting her room, she locked the door behind her and hustled over to Jack's door.

"What?" came a groggy answer to her knock.

"Jack, do you usually sleep in like this or was the heated passion of _Twilight _just too much for you?"

After some shuffling on the other side, he opened the door and gave her a quizzical look.

"Has Pintel been by? No breakfast gong? Nothing?"

"He's talking to inanimate objects, Lizzie. I'd cut him some slack if I were you."

"You don't find it unusual that he's not up and about?"

Jack looked past her into the hallway, his eyebrows narrowed. She likened the image to a panther hunting for hidden antelope.

"Wake up the others. Have them meet us on the stairwell."

It took no time. Barbossa was up and dressing. Will and James needed roused from sleep, but they bustled out their doors at lightning speed.

"Where's Mr. Gibbs?" Jack asked when they were all assembled.

"There was no answer when I knocked," Elizabeth said. "He could be downstairs or out on the porch."

"Bloody suspicious," Will commented.

"Abandoning the French ghost theory then?" Jack snapped, tempted to choke the life out of him. "Mr. Gibbs and I have been captain and mate for a long time, William, so before you go around accusing people, I would like to point out you had just as much opportunity as anyone else."

"Never mind," James said. "We have to find them both."

"Do we?" Barbossa hurried down in front of them until he reached the bottom of the staircase first. "Why can't we let them just kill each other, get Mr. Owen's dirty work out of the way for him?"

A chorus of eye rolling answered him as they patrolled the kitchen, dining room, and laundry room for Pintel and Gibbs.

"Good morning!" Gibbs said, closing the front door behind him with his raincoat and hat pulled close to him. "Wind's as fierce as ever, no boat coming by in that."

"Were you out there all by yourself?" James asked.

"Man's got to take a piss with privacy."

"There's a toilet in your room!"

"Ain't the sailor's way."

"Uh huh," James noted. "So Pintel wasn't singing or running a faucet to help you along then?"

"Good God! Pintel's missing?" Gibbs flung the door back open and motioned for everyone to continue the search outside.

* * *

They found him, out in the wood shed, his upper half looking up at them from the center of the shed. His legs dangled from the rafters.

"It's like something out of _Die Hard_," Barbossa gasped, avoiding the puddle of blood.

"Could we have a medical conclusion, please?" Will asked, sticking out two fingers to close Pintel's jaundiced eyes.

"Death occurred early this morning," Barbossa said, circling the corpse. "Cause of death is being hacked in two. I'd bet money that axe over there is the culprit. If Mr. Owen caught him by surprise, it wouldn't take much strength."

"Wouldn't take much strength to cut him in half?" James blurted, eyes wide.

"Jeez, Commodore. It ain't that hard. Haven't you seen magicians cut people in half?"

"Chopping up sticks," Will said. "Chopping up sticks! 'One chopped himself in half and then there were six!' It's the poem! It's the goddamn poem! Is there an apiary on the island? Bees? Where do we go for honey? Ha ha ha ha ha, hope no one's allergic to bee stings! Don't look at me like I'm mad! I'm the only one who knows what's really going on! Those damn French ghosts and their determination to stick with the poem. 'A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.' Bees! I'm not the insane one. You all are! It's like you've all taken a big bottle of crazy pills!"

Gibbs tentatively approached Will with a sympathetic expression and slapped him in the face.

"Thank you," Will breathed. "Whoo! Sorry about that. I'm fine now. Well." He clapped his hands together. "We should clear this mess out and get breakfast going. Elizabeth, you want to help?" He started for the door.

"I'm sick of clearing out corpses," Gibbs said. "I'll help with breakfast. The rest of you can take care of this."

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack warned.

"You like your bacon crispy or slightly bendy, Captain?"

* * *

"What do you make of it?" Elizabeth whispered to James. "That little outburst?"

"Could have happened to anyone. You forget Turner's usually so sensible. We'll probably all go that way eventually."

"I seriously can't imagine you losing your cool, James," she said.

"Nor you. But I have the evidence right in front of me and they do say knowledge is power. Yes, I think you and I will both get out of this."

* * *

"Will, you're burning the bacon."

Will rebuffed Gibbs and forked the bacon out of the pan onto the serving plate. Ought to not be so hard on a guy with no heart inside him, he thought.

"You're awfully calm, Gibbs."

"I've seen dead bodies before, Will. It's the life of a sailor."

"Yes, but how many have been your own? Aren't you afraid to die?"

Before Gibbs could answer, the rest of the group barged downstairs, keeping their hands a good distance away from their bodies, forming a line to wash their hands in the sink.

"Nasty job," Elizabeth said to him.

"We got some breakfast going. We'll serve it out in just a minute. Everyone feel free to pour yourselves some juice," Gibbs said, pointing to the refrigerator.

The sounds of a typical breakfast followed—the clanging of plates and silverware, the cutting of food. There was still plenty of cold ham and cheese to be had, along with the cooked bacon and a small basket of biscuits. Jack stacked three of them up and marked eyes and a smiley face in the top one with the Ketchup bottle. He mouthed the name "Pintel" and sighed.

"Stupid homunculus," he coughed. "Can't see anything but those beady dead eyes looking up at me."

"I know how to fix it, lad," Barbossa said, leaning over to Jack's place and knocked out the middle biscuit. The top one with the face fell onto the bottom one. "Now there's Pintel. You made him too tall."

"Aye," Jack said, lifting his glass. "To Pintel. He wasn't the brightest, the handsomest, or even the nicest, but he was part of the comic relief!"

"To Pintel!" They clanked their glasses together, the remaining six, and continued to chew and swallow with only the barest of conversation interrupting.

"Pass me another napkin, would you?"

"More cheese?"

"If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

_Only breakfast, only eleven in the morning. Only six figures left! How many will be left by tonight? _

_Look at him, so smug, so sure of himself. Little does he know I know the truth._

_I wonder if it will work. It has to work! It's the only way._

_Would it be wildly inappropriate for me to say, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids" right now?"_

_We must be very careful._

_Should I tell her she has a bit of ham stuck between her teeth?_

_Idiots. They don't suspect a thing, and why should they? I've been playing my part so well. Everything is going go according to plan._

_This cheese is going straight to my thighs._

_Oh my God, I don't know if it makes a sound? When people are around, of course a tree makes a sound when it falls. But can it really be called a sound if no one hears it? Is a sound dependent upon a listener? Or is it the other way around where someone has to be dependent on his or her surroundings to listen? This is going to eat away at me for the rest of the day._

Yep. Just a typical breakfast.

* * *

"Let's have a meeting," Elizabeth suggested, downing the last of her juice.

"About what?" James asked.

"The situation! We should regroup and discuss strategy, defensive or exit, whichever!"

"That's an excellent idea," James said. "Sitting room?"

"Why not?" Jack said, rising. "Everything that's been eventful has either been in there or in here."

They scrunched out of the cramped table and back through to the sitting room.

"Coming, Mr. Gibbs?"

"In two shakes, Jack. Just let me clear the table. I got to get rid of this headache." Gibbs shook his head and stood. After everyone left, he started picking up the plates, the food all polished off, and turned to place them in the sink. It was no better than disposing of bodies, he thought. "Screw it," he said out loud and pushed the dishes and assorted dining tools to the floor. A wave of dizziness soon overwhelmed him and he flew back down to his chair, one hand on his forehead. In between each pang, he heard a faint buzzing.

* * *

"Okay, at the risk of pissing off Jack again," Will said once everyone was seated. "Things are not looking good for Gibbs right now. He's so shifty! And out there all alone doesn't look good for him, either."

"Hush your mouth. Mr. Gibbs can take care of himself," Jack snapped.

"Yes, but he can also take care of Pintel, can't he?"

"What would be the motive, Turner?" James asked, massaging his temples. First French ghosts and now this. While James did concede that everyone was a suspect, placing anything Will said on a pedestal was just asking for trouble.

"What would the motive be for any of us? Revenge? Power? Just sheer lunacy? I bet you he has a drop of French blood in him! Now, I say we grab some rope, form a posse, and string him up. Who's with me?" Empty eyes and motionless guests answered him.

"This is so silly," Elizabeth sighed, exasperated. "We'll all just kill each other if we keep thinking we're all enemies. Let's just go back in the kitchen and ask Gibbs if he's the killer."

"You're kidding, right?" Barbossa said. "That's dumber than what your husband just said."

"Gibbs has always been honest with me," she said, standing upright with her nose in the air, summoning up more snootiness than she possessed, a small part of her mind wondering if Gibbs would cut her into little pieces the second she walked through the door, not even giving her a chance to scream.

"Gibbs, the guys are being jerkasses. Are you the…" She gagged on her own scream. Footsteps ran up behind her until they could all see Gibbs' corpse at the table. Barbossa ran over to him.

"He's been injected with something. Recently dead."

"Don't tell me the doctor brought a syringe with him?" Will asked with a roll of his eyes.

"I did, but I was in that room with all of you! I didn't inject him with anything. Anyways, here's the solution to your little theory, Turner. I'd say Mr. Gibbs is above suspicion now, age status notwithstanding," he said, turning to Elizabeth.

"Where's the syringe now?" she asked, ignoring the glare.

They looked around the table, but saw nothing.

"I did bring one, in my doctor bag." Barbossa shook his head at everyone. "You know, the little black doctor bags little kids play with! I have one! All of it's in there, along with my Oscar."

"I suggest a search of the room," Jack said. Wordlessly, they left the body and headed up to Barbossa's room.

* * *

**A/N: While I do hate _Twilight_, I really don't mind if someone else out there likes it, so consider the ribbing good-natured. Some of the jokes about it come from RiffTrax's (formerly known as the Mystery Science Theater gang) riff of the first movie, like how fun it is to be eternally damned and all. I like their take on Charlie's outlook on life myself. "Sit down! Have some plaid!" Many of the lines in this chapter are directly taken from the book, tweaked for POTC-ness. I don't own either! But all the same, it was sad killing off Gibbs. Good thing this is more or less a skit the cast is doing for your amusement and he's not really dead. Any suspects yet?**


	7. And Then There Were Four

The five remaining guests crept up the stairs and waited for Barbossa to unlock his door. Crouching down under his bed, he pulled out his doctor bag and sorted through the items. The end of a stethoscope flung out, along with a few Band-Aids. Barbossa fumbled deeper into the bag, finally turning it upside down and dumping the contents out onto the floor.

"It's gone! It's not here."

"When's the last time you saw it?" Elizabeth asked.

"I haven't seen it at all. One of you must have taken it. Pintel might have taken it when he showed me to his room! Anyone could have gotten it from that imbecile! It could be anywhere, do you understand? Anywhere!" He began pacing around the room, his fingertips grazing his lips. "I'll be sued for malpractice. I'll lose my medical license! I'll only have my pirating, mechanical knowledge, acting ability, and whittling talents to fall back on! I wonder if the Olympic rowing team could use an extra member…"

"Let's not panic," James said, his palms out and down to calm Barbossa. "It must be around here somewhere. We need to look for it."

"Let's split up," Will said. "We'll cover more ground. Let's see. Elizabeth, you come with me and we'll take the north side of the house and you three take the south side of the house."

"Wait a minute," Jack said. "You're sticking me with Barbossa and Norrington? Don't you think they might be more than glad to get their hands on a certain charming pirate and kill him in an unmanly fashion?"

"Then we'll know who did it." Will shrugged.

"I'm not going with that prick," James snapped. "Look at him! You all know his trickster mentality. He'd talk me into killing myself because he'd be too lazy to do it himself."

"That would be evidence that I'm NOT a murderer, Commodore," Jack responded with a slight laugh.

"Fine," Will sighed. "Norrington, you come with me. Jack, come with us, and Elizabeth and Barbossa will go to the south side."

"Ew!" Elizabeth and Barbossa screeched at the same time, leaping away from each other.

"She's a bloody halfpint!" Barbossa hissed at the same time Elizabeth shouted, "I suspect him!" Fortunately for her, Barbossa was yelling and didn't hear her.

"Well, there has to be some way to split up," Will huffed.

"You, Barbossa, and James take the north side and Jack and I will take the south side," Elizabeth suggested.

Will turned to her with an incredulous face.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He threw up his hands. "This is what's going to happen. Norrington and I will take the north side. Elizabeth, Jack, and Barbossa will take the south side. That way, no one is alone, everyone has a chaperone, and there is no way for the murderer to do anything without the rest of us knowing. All set?"

"I'm not going." Jack fell onto the bed.

"What?"

"I'm not risking my life for some syringe. It's already done its damage. Who's to say Mr. Owen didn't just fling it into the ocean or stomp it into syringe-mash? My first mate and my father are already dead and if I'm going to go back to Tortuga for crew interviews, I have to be alive and well to do so. Savvy?"

Barbossa pulled a bag out from his closet.

"Would you do it for a Jack-Snack?"

Jack shook his head.

"Two Jack-Snacks?"

Jack shook his head.

"Three Jack-Snacks?"

"Oh, all right." He opened his mouth and caught the three bits Barbossa tossed to him.

"This is how I got him to show me the bearings to Isla de Muerta," Barbossa bragged.

* * *

The two groups met back up with crestfallen faces and hunched shoulders. The evening coupled with the rain made the house seem even more massive and eerie than before, most of the cozier nooks lit by candles.

"This is ridiculous," James said. "If we're going to escape with our lives, we can't have any loose weapons around. I suggest we get rid of everything that could be used to kill someone. Sparrow, your pistol, for example, and Barbossa's medical kit."

"Steal my effects? Finally all this lunacy's unhinged you, Jamie-lad. Someone commit him at once!"

"As long as you have that pistol, you're a hazard to everyone."

"As long as I have my pistol, I've the advantage."

"Sparrow…"

"Captain, if ye please."

"CAPTAIN Sparrow," James spat. "If you do not relinquish your weapon we will all assume you are the murderer. Now, I don't know if Barbossa could overpower you, and Lord knows Turner would be no help at all."

"Hey!" Will cried.

"And I don't care what kind of history you and Elizabeth may or may not have had, but you would have all of us to contend with, and we'll be fighting for our lives. If you're as smart as you claim, you'll turn in your pistol."

Jack paused, his upper lip twitching, the gears in his mind steaming at conjuring some alternative, but nothing came. He grimaced at James' extended hand, but stuck out his own. He let it linger, second-guessing himself, but shook James' hand and unlocked his door.

"Right over here. I dropped it off before we went looking for Pintel." He opened the drawer in the table next to his bed. Straightening after several seconds of peering into the drawer, he smiled a fox's smile. "Seems someone's already taken the initiative." Pulling out the entire drawer, he showed them the empty contents. "There was a Bible in here, too. Not mine, but the house's. Mr. Owen has an affinity for Leviticus, to be sure."

The men shoved Elizabeth into her room and forced Jack to strip, searching his coat and clothes. Each one followed suit before James knocked on Elizabeth's door.

"Elizabeth?"

"Er…not right now!"

"What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing!" Her voice sounded slurred and drained. "Is Jack still naked?" Slowly, she opened the door and poked only her head out, her cheeks blushing.

"What were you doing?" James asked.

"Er, enjoying myself." She winked.

"Right…Elizabeth, did you bring a swimsuit? It's important we search everyone."

She nodded and reappeared out in the hallway minutes later in a black bikini with little cherries designed into it.

"Why didn't you wear that on the wedding night instead of that weird black thing?" Will blurted.

"Am I being searched, or am I just modeling this around like I'm on a catwalk?" Elizabeth turned on her heels and strutted down the hallway, one long, creamy leg in front of the other, taking on a pout any supermodel might envy. She returned to them and took in their dropped jaws.

"No, er, you're fine, good…I mean, that'll do," James said.

"I think we could afford to double check," Jack offered.

"I'll be in my room," she said, slamming the door behind her. Men, she thought, secretly flattered they all still found her so attractive. Maybe she should taunt them tonight. Maybe Mr. Owen could be "persuaded" to spare her. With a smirk, she ran to her closet to look for one of her lounge dresses. Sorting through her clothes, something felt amiss. Standing still, she waited. There wasn't any sound, she noted. That's what's strange. With a gasp, she threw up her arms to the shelf, the lack of any heart beating stopping her own. The chest! The chest was gone! Throwing on a skimpy sun dress, she flew out the door.

"Someone's taken the chest!"

"Great!" Will snapped. "Just great! Now I'm going to die. Well, kudos to the next captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. It's a great gig, what with all the decaying bodies and lack of sex. No, wait! It's exactly like here!"

"We can't worry with that now," a very clearly worried James said, gathering the weaponry and medical arsenal into a lockbox. He handed the box to Jack and the key to Will. "You're both the most physically deadly, besides myself, of course. Well, let's be honest here. Even with the chest gone, Turner's less likely to die than the rest of us."

"I'm no slouch, you know," Barbossa interrupted.

"You can't open the box without the key and we would be able to hear if there was a struggle between the two of you. I can't say it's the best solution, what with the chest missing, and all, but it will have to make do."

"Wait a minute," Will said, holding out his arms. "Did anyone search the bushes?" No one answered him. "I can't speak for the chest, but I think I know where the syringe is. Follow me!"

Downstairs, he led them to the dining room and opened the window. Without a screen, it was easy for him to stretch his gloved hand down into the shrubs. He produced the syringe along with one of the figures from the centerpiece.

"Mr. Owen likes his poem," he said with a puffed chest. "Everyone, I give you the sixth Indian figure."

* * *

Five frightened guests gathered at the card table for Pictionary, although all their minds were elsewhere. The storm still raged outside, causing the palm trees to scrape against the windowpanes. They listened to classical music on the phonograph, _Celeste Aida, Funeral March for a Marionette, The Death March_, etc. Refusing to form teams, each individual drew in hopes any of the others could form a correct guess. Will scribbled furiously onto his paper.

"Bell? Is it a bell?"

"Sort of looks like a pair of lips."

"You mean a pair of lips with a cold sore. What's that thing in the middle?"

"It looks a bit like the Taco Bell logo. I miss that Chihuahua. Oh, what a sweet gig that would have been…"

"Barbossa!" Will yelled. "Stop lamenting about that bloody General Mills deal and take a guess!" With dry lips he drew an ear next to his drawing.

"Sounds like…" Jack interpreted.

"Vest!" Elizabeth shouted out, slapping her hands on the table in excitement after Will drew himself in his old blacksmith garb, complete with buckled shoes. An arrow pointed towards his chest. "Pest?"

"Breast?" James wondered.

"Nest?"

"Rest?"

"Blest?"

"Time!" Elizabeth placed the tiny hourglass back into the box.

"Chest," Will breathed. "It was a chest. The little cold sore was the lock…where the key goes…which contains my still-beating heart, Elizabeth! Honestly, it was just cruel irony that I drew a card that said to draw a chest."

"You could have drawn a human chest, you know," Barbossa offered. "Pectorals and nipples and all."

"Sorry. I just have the other kind of chest on my mind because of someone's callousness!"

Elizabeth stood and ripped his drawing in two. "That's what I think about your passive-aggressive reaction to the chest being stolen from me. That's right. Stolen! I didn't lose it. I didn't pawn it for silk stockings. I didn't toss it into a fire just to see what would happen. Someone stole it from me!"

"Why do you need silk stockings?" Will asked, still stunned at her outburst. "I thought only hookers and lounge singers wore silk stockings anymore."

"Never mind," she said quickly. "It's time for tea."

"I think we'd all feel a bit more secure if we watched you make it," James said, standing and waiting for her to lead the way to the kitchen.

"Of course you would," she sniffed, awkwardly turning from the table towards the doorway, and then back. In a huff, she shoved the Pictionary cards onto the floor and resumed her angry-kid stomp back into the kitchen.

* * *

Elizabeth poured herself and James some tea. Everyone else opted for brandy. They huddled together in the kitchen, a few sitting on the countertop, others leaning against the cupboards. There was no point in making small talk. Each one of them appeared more bestial, more predatory.

"We must be very careful," James said, hunched in like a snapping turtle. "I say, Elizabeth, is this Earl Grey tea?"

"It is," she slurred, licking a drop that fell from her lips. "Let's go back into the sitting room. It's more open in there."

They moved together as a group. If one needed to use the bathroom or do anything, all the others remained.

"The storm should let up soon," Barbossa said. "It's just a question of time."

"Time's what we don't have, mate," Jack whispered, his eyes on the staircase just out the sitting room door and in the hallway, always expecting someone to descend down it with a machine gun in each hand. "And before you say we could swim across…William!" He sprang up in his seat. "You might not be aware of this, but you do know as the captain of the _Flying Dutchman _you can breathe underwater?"

"And teleport." Elizabeth perked.

"Neither one works here," Will sighed, shaking his head. "The only supernatural thing about this island is my heart, which we can't find."

The prospect of hope flying away from them sent them hurling back into their respective seats.

"I can't sit here anymore," Elizabeth said. "I'm going up to my room."

"Lock the door," James warned.

Waiting until she had her back to him, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and tiptoed upstairs, her cup and saucer still in her hand. A glimmer of amusement surfaced in her brain at the idea of flinging the saucer at an assailant with such force it would decapitate him, but her nostrils flared out instead, taking in the unmistakable scent of the sea. You're on an island, stupid, of course you smell the sea, she told herself. Yes, but not like this. So near.

She unlocked her door, the darkness somehow emphasizing the howling wind outside. We need some light in here before I close the light out from the hall, she thought. Tracing the foot of the bed with her fingertips, she wound around the room towards the lamp until something tickled against her throat.

Jumping, she tried to dart back for the door, but something cold and clammy coiled itself around her neck.

She couldn't hear her own screams, the flight-or-fight instinct completely taking over her. She writhed and twisted in the dark, not hearing a chair overturned downstairs or the footsteps sprinting up to her.

The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by arms pulling her to her bed and forcing her head between her legs.

"Just breathe, love. There you go."

She exhaled and placed a hand up to her heart, her mind registering Jack's voice, Jack bringing her back to life once again. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him standing over her, Barbossa on the other side of her lighting the lamps. Will stood on a chair in front of her. Following his body up to her ceiling, she saw a long, nappy ribbon of seaweed hanging from a hook.

"That's what that smell was," she wheezed, hand still on her heart.

"Drink this up, lass," Barbossa knelt in front of her, holding a glass of a brown liquid under her nose. "Brandy."

"Where did it come from?" she stammered out.

"Downstairs."

"I won't drink it."

"Got to do more than scare her next time you want to kill her, Barbossa," Jack gave out a short laugh. "Buttle off and go get a sealed bottle."

"…like to seal you up in a bottle," he muttered on his way out.

"At least there's one murder botched," Will said, flinging the seaweed out the window.

"You think that was what happened?" Elizabeth asked, finally feeling steady on her feet.

"I don't know what else it could have been. Mr. Owen figured you'd faint and then he'd come up and kill you. Either that or that you'd die of fright, right, Barbossa?"

Barbossa returned with a fresh bottle and a cork screw.

"Young, healthy woman like her? You might benefit from a few medical classes, Will. There we go, missy. Nothing like fresh spirits." He handed the bottle to her and she chugged some of it down before her eyes widened and that dizzying sensation almost returned to her.

"Where's James?" she asked.

"He wasn't on the stairs or in the kitchen."

"Wasn't he right behind you on the stairs, Will?" Jack asked, heading towards the door.

"Well, he wouldn't have been able to get up here as fast as we could. These buckets do make it hard to move. I feel kind of bad he was stuck behind me."

They linked hands and went down the stairs together, backs against the wall. On one side of the foyer was the dining room and kitchen, the sitting room on the other. They shuffled into the sitting room and scanned the darkness. At last someone cried out.

James Norrington sat back in his chair, eyes still and staring up at the ceiling, a deep crimson spot on his forehead with a little trickle trailing down the bridge of his nose.

"Barbossa," Will prompted. Barbossa took dull footsteps over to James and felt for a pulse.

"He's dead," he said in a lifeless voice.

"The pistol," Elizabeth breathed. "How could no one have heard it?"

"Storm raging, wind howling, you screaming upstairs. We were all in a hurry. No wonder we didn't hear it," Will gave a short, hysteric laugh. "Well, Mr. Norrington, careful you were, like you said. And a lot of good it did you. Another one acquitted too late."

* * *

**A/N: I got this worked out to where it is 10 chapters long! How about that? 10 guests and 10 chapters...so happy. I STRONGLY recommend reading the book, the play if you don't have the book on you. Oh, and I STRONGLY recommend watching the POTC movies, too. Can't have one without the other. So pop the popcorn, dim the lights, and see if you can solve the mystery!**


	8. Things Start to Get Screwy

Routine now—two dragging the body to its room while the other two remained downstairs, never leaving each other's sight. They placed a sheet over James Norrington as they did with the others after they placed them on their beds and huffed downstairs with heavy legs. Jack and Will sat at the bottom of the stairs, sweaty and bloodshot. Jack rubbed his temples, still trying to perceive everything that was happening around him.

"Barbossa, where's the pistol now?"

"I didn't see it."

"So someone shot him, disappeared, and took the pistol with him." He let his arms drape over his knees, his hands dangling in between. "Great." He wanted to yawn, to bat his eyes, wondering if there was such a thing as being too drained to sleep.

"Let's eat something," Elizabeth suggested, taking notice of Jack's exhausted body. "It won't do us any good if we're too exhausted to see what's coming." She led them into the kitchen and pulled out the ham and cheese. "And we already know what's on the menu! Our work is half done." It was harder than trying to fervor-up a group of emo teens at the airport.

"Only four of us left," Will gave out a terrified gasp. "At least I know who it is."

"So do I," Barbossa said.

"I haven't the least doubt now," Elizabeth said. "Jack, do you remember just earlier you had suspected James?"

"Had to be wrong sometime," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Wish it had been about Sean Connery not coming out of retirement to do _Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_, though."

"My God, I thought I was the only one who thought Sean Connery would be back for that," Barbossa exclaimed. "That would have made the movie a hundred times better."

* * *

Since when did he have anything in common with Jack? Barbossa banged his head on his desk in his room a few times pondering it, hoping it was the stressful situation and nothing more. He folded up his notes and stuffed them into the desk drawer. He recognized how useless they'd been in helping him figure this whole business out, but he felt compelled to keep them. He unfolded Mr. Owen's letter that first propositioned him to come here. Promises of glory and getting to rub elbows with the Trix Rabbit seemed so superficial now, compared with survival. He ran over to his window and threw open the shutters and yelled out, "TRIX!" as loud as he could, palms pressing into his temples, eyes squeezed shut in agony.

* * *

It wasn't often someone like Captain Jack Sparrow was preoccupied with "a feeling in his bones," to quote the late Gibbs, but as he paced in his room and flipped through pages of John Grisham novels without comprehending a single word, the premonition hounding him. Rising up, he sauntered over to his bedside table and opened the drawer. Above the Bible rested his pistol, staring up at him as if it had never left.

What great thoughts entered the mind of the man who sacked Nassau Port without ever firing a shot? What Sherlockian conclusion had he drawn from such an event that would seem bizarre to our small minds but sheer elementary to his own?

"Bugger, I could really use a drink."

* * *

Barbossa must be going bonkers, Will thought, laying awake on his bed. He contemplated writing in his diary to pass the time, but every entry was starting to sound the same now. "Dear Diary, someone died and I feel like Anne Frank." Hours must have gone by just staring at that last entry. His eyelashes began to flutter, his head drooping. A few footsteps ambled outside his door.

"That must be the pizza guy," Will murmured sleepily and dragged his bucket legs to the door. "Hope he doesn't mind I'm stiffing him on a tip…wait." He shook the sleepiness out of his eyes. "Stiff! MacGuffin Island! Dead people!" He backed away from the door, wondering if it was a trap. If someone, a certain Jack someone, meant for him to hear the footsteps and counted on him coming out to investigate. It would be just like Isla de Muerta all over again. Captain Will Turner Jr. was just leverage again. Leverage for what, he had no idea, but it was Captain Jack Sparrow, damn it! It couldn't be something good.

"If I live through this, I'll pursue a medical degree and Oscar as well," he promised the gods above and leaped out into the empty hallway. Stopping at the stairs, he saw a figure dash out the front door leading outside.

"OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD," Will pranced about, flailing his hands. He dove his knuckles into his mouth to keep from screaming. He ran over to Elizabeth's door and knocked.

"Elizabeth?"

"What?" came an alert, nervous voice.

"I'll come back in a few minutes. You might want to get dressed. Don't come out just yet."

Running over to Barbossa's room, he tried the same thing with no answer. Inhaling, he stopped over at Jack's door and knocked.

"What?"

"Barbossa's gone. I heard steps and saw someone go out the door."

Jack was out of his room in a flash, coat and hat on.

"I've always wanted to say this," he said, taking a deep breath and placing a hand on Will's shoulder. "Will, let's get that son of a bitch."

"Should we have Elizabeth come with us?" Will asked.

"Nay, no use in Barbossa dragging all three of us out of the house to die," Jack said with a cheerfulness that warranted suspicion, Will thought. He watched him stroll over to Elizabeth's door and knock. "Lizzie, William and I are going hunting, so to speak. Don't open the door unless we both come back. Savvy?"

"I'm not stupid," was the answer.

They bustled down the stairs and into the main foyer, pausing at the front door. The storm must have let up in the night, they realized, taking in the vast amount of moonlight shining down on the front porch and rocks.

"Remember it's got to be the element of surprise, Jack," Will whispered, his hand resting on the knob. "We may outnumber him, but he's probably got the pistol."

"That's where you're wrong," Jack said, fighting a feminine urge to giggle. He opened his coat and revealed the pistol now in its proper holster. He took a moment to relish the apprehensive face in front of him. "Oh, relax. I'm not going to shoot you. You still rank a little higher than Barbossa in my book. Let's go."

* * *

Elizabeth busied herself by packing, stuffing only a few shirts and boots into her carry-on bag, content to leave everything else, including her massive black Dockers luggage she pulled on wheels, in the closet. It could rot on MacGuffin Island with the rest of the corpses. The skies cleared, it was only a mile or so to the next island. She could surely swim that, couldn't she? Will and Jack would come back, their search fruitless, and deduce where she had gone and they could all meet up at a Joe's Crab Shack for Happy Hour.

Unless…her imagination wandered. Unless it was all a ploy. That was it! Barbossa made sure someone would see him go out the front door and then double back into the house, wait until Elizabeth had made herself antsy enough to leave her room, and pop her one! Isolation was his game. Stomping her foot and cursing, she pushed her carry-on bag onto the floor and sat on her bed, disgusted with herself.

But what if the plan was indeed for her to stay in her room? Meanwhile, Barbossa, pyrotechnics expert that he was, no doubt, was busy setting the house on fire. He lured Jack and Will out with the promise of a manhunt and the house would go up in flames, all the while Elizabeth stayed in her room like an idiot.

"Elizabeth?"

"Will? Are you by yourself?"

"Nobody here but the three of us," came Jack's voice.

She opened the door and read their disappointed faces. Raising an eyebrow at the sudden resurgence of Jack's pistol in his hand, though, she shrugged it off.

"Barbossa's vanished."

"Vanished?" she scoffed. "He's hiding somewhere. Did you search the house when you came back in?"

"Not here."

Good Lord, this is why she should be the Pirate King, not anyone else! Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling in frustration.

"We looked up on the cliffs to see if we could see him making a swim for it, nothing. The man's gone, as if he was never here."

"Bollocks," Elizabeth spouted. "We couldn't find the pistol and now here it is."

"Barbossa's not pistol-sized, Elizabeth," Will grunted. "If he were, he'd be an action figure."

For a brief moment, they imagined action figure Barbossa, complete with karate chopping arm and a second really big hat for accessorizing.

"The only thing that's changed," Jack said, breaking all of them out of the creepy daydream. "Is there's a pane in the dining room that's been smashed and there are only three Indian figures left."

* * *

Breakfast that morning consisted of, what else, the ham and cheese. Our intrepid trio, usually people of action, sat at the breakfast nook instead of in the dining room, not wanting to stare down the three Indian figures in the centerpiece.

"Let's try an SOS signal now that the sun's out and the sky's clear," Will said. "Somebody on the next island should be able to read Morse Code." He practiced by drumming out SOS on the table. Soon it turned into the classic "Shave and a haircut" knock.

"Might be best to make a fire also," Elizabeth offered. "I don't suppose anyone knows how to make smoke signals? Oh well. Signals that are at least a thousand feet high do well on their own. If only things were the way they were before where all I needed to get by was my underwear and feminine wiles."

"Jack," Will looked up from his sandwich and met Jack's overly innocent sneer. "Since possible rescue is close at hand, I think it would do everyone, and by everyone I mean myself and her over there, a lot of good if you would put that pistol in the chest with everything else. You and I are still here, so we still have the chest and key."

"No."

"Come on!" he whined.

"No! Nay! Negative. I need it for myself."

"Then I can only come to one conclusion," Will said dramatically.

"What? That I'm Mr. Owen and not some ghost couple of Napoleon and Josephine? Think what you want, but think about this—I could have shot you a thousand times over last night and I didn't. Now I'm beginning to regret it." With that, Jack bit into his sandwich.

"You didn't shoot me because it has to fit the stupid rhyme!" Will yelled.

"Only Maurice Chevalier and Charles de Galle and Claude Monet believe it has to fit the stupid rhyme," Jack muttered, snorting to himself.

"Look, Jack, I may not know why you didn't shoot me last night, but I do know one thing…"

"That's one more thing than I would have credited to you…"

"As long as you have that pistol, Elizabeth and I are at your mercy."

"Maybe I'm at yours," he said with a cryptic tone and took a slow bite of his sandwich for effect.

"Me? I'm the honest blacksmith who does everything out of love. You're the rascally pirate!"

"And you're the one who 'claims' to have seen Barbossa leave his room. How do I know that wasn't my bit of cheese to get me into your trap, eh? Everyone knows I hate Barbossa! You could have killed him and then come back to get me and push me over a cliff. Why you didn't, I'll use your reasoning…it has to fit the damn rhyme!"

"Morons," Elizabeth said, who had not committed herself to the discussion. Will and Jack fumed at her. Instantly, the three sprang from their chairs with their silverware in hand, a veritable daisy chain of cutlery. A fork in one hand and spoon in another, they each pointed them at each other. Had they been weapons, no one would have survived. "Turning on each other. That's what Barbossa wants! He's not dead. You're right, Will. It all does have to fit the rhyme. 'Four little Indians going out to sea/a red herring swallowed one and then there were three.' A red herring! For all we know, Barbossa stole the third Indian figure himself. Now come on. Let's sit down. One. Two. Three."

They sat and resumed breakfast as if nothing had happened.

"Why would he give himself away like that?" Jack inquired, scratching his head.

"Because he's crazy! It doesn't have to make sense. Now, stop this tomfoolery and eat breakfast like civilized people."

"You can't talk to us like that!" Will bellowed. "We're the ones who searched the island and didn't find him. Your theory is the one that doesn't make sense! You're blaming everything on a dead man! If I wasn't a gentleman, I'd teach you a lesson…"

"I already know how to get beaten by Davy Jones, dumbass," she snapped. "It's Barbossa. I'd stake my life on it."

* * *

**A/N: Somewhat of a short chapter, but oh well. I don't own the pop culture references, of course, or the main plot, or POTC. This was one of my favorite chapters to write and you probably know why. Hysterical arguing! If you need to reference the nursery rhyme, the whole thing is in chapter 2.**


	9. Screwier and Screwier

Our heroes, my, we're using that term loosely, aren't we, made it to the top of the island after breakfast and lit a bonfire along with heliographing using one of the revolving floor-length mirrors from the house. The sea still churned, restless from the storm. It was only a mile to the next island, but a treacherous mile.

"Someone there has to know Morse," Elizabeth whispered, mostly to herself. "Let's not go back to the house. Let's stay out here. It's a nice day."

Both men pondered the fact a strait jacket might be necessary and then immediately considered the fact she would look damn sexy in one.

"Our letters promised us adventure and fun, didn't they? Isn't that what we all came for? Step to! Let's set up the volleyball nets." She started scampering down the rocks.

"There's three of us," Will argued.

"So? You take two nets and make an X shape with them." She gestured with her hands. "That way everyone has their own space and we just avoid hitting it into the free space. This is why I was such a good Pirate King."

"You aren't the Pirate King anymore?" Jack asked. Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh? Oh, I must have misspoke. Am, am the Pirate King. Nothing's changed." She gave out a nervous laugh and stumbled along the rocks, almost tripping. She caught herself and dusted off the skirt of her dress before scurrying down to the beach.

* * *

Will Turner did not like losing, and when one has buckets strapped to his feet, a game like volleyball that requires jumping and agility is a lost cause. Bad enough his usual athleticism would go unrecognized, but he had seen! He had seen it all. He'd known Jack had a soft spot for Elizabeth and that she'd been attracted to him, naturally. A hot-blooded woman like her whose heart still beat within the confines of her body would of course flock to your stereotypical bad boys. But he, Will Turner, was the protagonist! It was his monomyth, not hers, not Jack's. His! The mature side of him did tell him it was for the best, the fact there was clearly more to the two of them than he had ever anticipated, but he reminded himself they were all still on an island with a killer on the loose. Love triangles would have to wait.

"That was invigorating. Good idea, Elizabeth," he said, putting a vast amount of effort into being a good sport. "I'm famished, though. Who's hungry?"

"I'll stay out here," she said.

"Why? Don't tell me you're watching your figure. You'll disappear."

"It wouldn't hurt you to fill out in a few places, darling," Jack added. Both of them sank their heads down like ostriches, instantly sorry for their words.

"I'm not going back into that house. You can play with the cleavage of a blowup doll or something." She folded her arms and sat down on a large stone. "I'll find things to eat out here." She glanced down at the sand and grimaced at a hermit crab scuttling by. "Not that. Clams. Or lobster. We have a fire going. It'll be just like the rumrunner's island, won't it, Jack? We didn't starve there."

"If it's going to be like the rum runner's island, I'd like to get drunk on my own merit this time."

"Well, I'm going back," Will said, walking backwards, waiting. "If anyone cares to join me…" Jack plopped down onto another stone. "Oh. Well…you know, it's an awfully big house I'm going back to…lots of places to hide…"

"Therefore will I lend you the pistol?" Jack pretended to whimper. "Should have brought your own, that's what I say."

"If we'd each brought our own, it would be like the _Clue _game and it would have been all too easy to figure out who'd have done it," Will gnashed through a frustrated smile. "You bring the cyanide, for example. Next thing, your dad's dead in the Conservatory. Mystery solved."

"No pistol."

"Stop behaving like animals!" Elizabeth shouted before clamping her hand over her mouth. "It might save our lives if we stop," she said quieter. "The third to last stanza's about a zoo, remember?"

"There aren't any bears on this island and I'm starving," Will said. "Peace out." He disappeared up the rocks back to the house.

"Is that safe what he's doing?" she asked.

"The rocks are dry. He shouldn't slip unless he's really clumsy…" Jack glanced back at her. "Oh. You mean going back to the house alone. Well, I suppose. Not that I like disagreeing with you, love, but I don't think Barbossa's inside waiting for him. I searched the island and the house, too, you remember."

"You shouldn't have been so hard on him," she said, hugging herself. "He's going through a hard time. Do you know how many people out there wish he was dead? He's not exactly Mr. Popular, especially online."

"Why aren't you the Pirate King anymore, Lizzie?"

The question caught her off guard, so much so she fell off the stone and onto the sand. Dusting herself off, she stammered for a good lie.

"I don't know what you mean! Of course, I'm the Pirate King. You were there! It was your vote that got me the title."

"They voted you out, didn't they? Cuttlefish, the lot of them. Just as I said they were. Shows what they know. What have you been up to this past year if you haven't had any adventures?"

"Oh, Jack, I'm a LOUNGE SINGER!" she sobbed into her hands. "I was going to be a pilot and start a new life for myself and here I am singing show tunes to drunks every night. Every night I go home smelling like beer and cigarettes and my piano player is gay! I couldn't hook up with him even if I tried!" She blew her nose into the skirt of her dress. "It's been so terrible. You can't tell Will. I haven't told anyone except you and Father. Please."

Jack stared at her and wondered what the world was coming to that the fearsome warrior he knew was now singing _Cabaret _songs to the ungrateful. Sliding over to her, he placed an arm around her.

"We all have our secrets, darling. I won't share yours." He patted her back. "I, for instance, am a huge fan of ABBA."

"I sing ABBA songs sometimes at work." A smile glistened through her tears.

"If you change your mind/I'm the next in line/honey, I'm still free/Take a chance on me," they sang briefly, laughing silently before considering the lyrics.

"It is terrible, but some nights it's fun if the songs are good and the crowd is hip," she admitted. "I suppose that's my secret within a secret." She reached over and held his hand to her. "I also agreed with you about Sean Connery. He would have made _Indy 4 _so much better. He and Harrison Ford had such father-son chemistry. It was comic gold, action buddies, and heartwarming all at the same time." She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. "I like Sean Connery, always have. I always feel a bit tingly when I watch him in something."

"I'd go gay for Sean Connery," Jack said suddenly. Elizabeth sat up with a playful smile that Jack returned. Cupping her cheeks, he pulled her to her and kissed her, astonished when her hands slid up his back and pressed him to her.

The moment couldn't last, a thud resounding from above them. It rained down on their ears, heralding mystery, suspense, and possibly death.

"What was that?" she asked, already breaking into a run for the house. Not far behind her, Jack readied his pistol.

They found him out on the dining room terrace, Will Turner, captain of the _Flying Dutchman _keeled over, his bandana slightly loosened. Next to him laid his heart, a long steak knife protruding out of it.

"The chest," Jack said, backtracking into the dining room to find the dead man's chest toppled over on the table, the key still sticking out of it.

"The knife has a bear on the handle," Elizabeth murmured. "'A big bear hugged one and then there were two.' Oh, Will. Will, I'm sorry." She bent over him. "I did promise to keep it safe. We'll find the new captain. We'll make sure he doesn't soil the good name of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_." She planted a kiss on his lifeless cheek and stood. "He only has until sunset now, Mr. Owen. Bloody idiot should have saved Will for last."

* * *

"It really is like the rumrunner's island," Jack said, the bonfire reaching up into the heavens. Maybe over on the bigger, more populated island, some lowly fisherman would see the flames and send a search party out to MacGuffin Island. He'd thought about how he and Lizzie would explain all the bodies in such a way as to avoid lethal injection or the electric chair, but one thing at a time.

"Do you think Barbossa will try anything sooner than later? It will be sunset in a matter of hours."

Jack didn't answer, trying to scan the beach and rock. Elizabeth smoothed the skirt of her dress and shifted. He knew it was for the best all the rum was in the same house they'd sworn not to return to, but it did make things less colorful.

"Let's hear that lounge singing," he prompted, enjoying the bemusement on her face.

"No! I hate that job. Why would I sing now?"

"Boredom. Here." He straightened and positioned himself across from her. "We'll have a sing-off. We challenge the other one with a song. If you don't know the words, an article of clothing comes off. Now, when…not if…we both lose, Barbossa will just have to have his last sight be us _i__n flagrante delicto_ before I shoot him. Easy as pie. You go first."

"I'll give you an easy one since you're such an ABBA fan so you can't say I threw myself at you," she laughed. "'Waterloo.'"

* * *

Elizabeth awoke a couple of hours later in the crook of Jack's arm, her arms huddled against his side for warmth. The fire still roared and the sea was finally calming. She tapped Jack's chin and kissed him before they…

"Wait," a reader interrupted. "Did they, or didn't they?"

I am no raunchy smut writer, young miss! I do not kiss and tell.

"You've written smut before and made lewd, sexual innuendo in several of your previous fics! I demand a straight answer."

Yes. My goodness, of course they did! Wouldn't you? It even says "eventual j/e" in the summary before you could even click to read the first chapter. Use your imaginations, people! The slogan of this whole website is about unleashing imagination and running wild with it. Yes. Okay? Yes. In fact, several times, yes. Several kinky, passionate times.

"I didn't have to know all the details," the reader sighed and continued with the story.

Anyways, she tapped Jack's chin and kissed him before they embarked, searching the island once again for any traces of life. As soon as the sea calmed, they would swim for it.

"Just think, love. A mile away we have tropical rhythms and drinks just waiting for us," Jack said with an arm around her as they walked. "We'll make sure Barbossa tells us where the _Pearl _is before I shoot him and then it's the horizon, the entire ocean! Whatever we want to do."

"I'm already sold on it. You don't have to give me the same sales pitch," she joked before stopping in her tracks. "What's that?"

Jack followed her gaze over to some pointy rocks that led into the surf.

"A bather? That can't be right."

"No, it is! That's clothes. There's a boot there." They broke into a run, hearts racing, hoping and dreading at the same time. Elizabeth reached the site first and threw her hands over her mouth, grateful the bloated, blue, drowned face was downward instead of staring up at her with the blankness of a caught fish.

"A red herring swallowed him indeed," Jack said dryly, taking hold of a stick and poking the motionless corpse that was once Hector Barbossa.

* * *

**A/N: Hmm, what now? Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion!**


	10. The Thrilling Conclusion

**A/N: I hope everyone has enjoyed the story so far. That, and piquing an interest in Agatha Christie's works were my goals. I've laughed, hopefully you have too, so let's not beat around MacGuffin Island...I mean, the bush, too much more and get right into the thrilling conclusion, aptly entitled, "The Thrilling Conclusion."**

* * *

It lasted an eternity, their eyes fastened on each other. Whole sunsets and sunrises passing before them, eons passing by them like sports cars on a highway. That's what it felt like, the few seconds of heart-stopping terror and confusion between them before either of them spoke.

"There's nobody else on this island now, Lizzie. Just the two of us," Jack spoke first, his mind working overtime. They unconsciously circled the other, cornered by denial.

Elizabeth averted her eyes and planted them on the body.

"Poor Barbossa…" she began, shuddering at Jack's cold laugh.

"Poor Barbossa? My, we're lowering our standards somewhat, aren't we? He only left us to die, kidnapped you, and tried to kill everyone…not this time, of course, but before. Rotter's better off dead." Clenching his fists, he walked over and kicked the corpse. Should know better than to trust her, he thought. How did he always end up falling for it? And yet, it didn't feel right at all. He believed her with one hundred percent certainty.

"Maybe w-we should move him to the house with the others," she tried.

"He can stay out here and be seagull-chow."

"Fine." She wedged herself between Barbossa's arms, he himself wedged between the two rocks, and took hold of his hands. Heaving, she stepped backwards in an attempt to dislodge him. Her feet dug deep into the sand, the body not budging an inch. Had it been under better circumstances, Jack would have found her efforts amusing. "I've got it. I don't need your help," she gasped out, breaking a sweat. "He's only, what, one hundred and eighty pounds or so? Two hundred and ten at the most? I helped Byron push his piano up onto the stage at the airport. Barbossa should be nothing." She grunted again and heaved, her arms about to feel pulled from their sockets.

"Bugger," Jack snapped and took an arm, pulling the body side by side with her. At last it slipped through the rocks and onto them. Rolling out of the mass that smelled of rot and seaweed, they scrambled back to their feet. "Not an easy task. But I suppose you're satisfied now?"

"Quite satisfied."

He didn't have to turn. Her tone was deeply mournful, heartbroken, even, but there was just a hint of triumph in it. Triumph in survival. His hands up, he swayed around until he could see his own pistol pointed at him.

"Picking pockets now, lounge singer? I would have thought they tipped you better than that."

"How dare you speak to me! I trusted you!" The pistol wobbled in her trembling arms. "Don't take another step, Jack. I don't want to kill you a second time."

"I don't want you to kill me a second time!" he blurted, fighting off the building panic. "Now you think I did it and I think you did it? This doesn't make any sense! How could either of us have killed Will?"

"Easily," she said. "You didn't like him. You took every opportunity you had to put him down…"

"I mean means, not motive!"

"I…you're a smart man. You could have rigged it up somehow…although you would have had to change your mind about becoming captain of the _Flying Dutchman_." Her eyebrow rose as she examined Jack. "You didn't kill Will at all, did you? This is ridiculous! Of course, one of us did! Everyone else is dead!"

They locked eyes. Every cog in both their minds drew out the same conclusion.

"Not everyone else is dead," Jack breathed. His eyes widened at Elizabeth lowering the pistol. "No, keep it on me. We're probably being watched."

"That would explain that feeling of being watched all the time," she said, nodding. "Here's what we'll do. I'll yell out 'bang' and you'll fall down like I shot you. Then I can go back in the house and shoot whoever it is."

"That would only work if it's Pintel," Jack said, raising his hands higher in the air. "You think you can miss me if you really fire?"

"And go back in there unarmed?"

"You'd drop it like you were in shock and I'd reload while you were going back up to the house. Yes, you'd be the bait, pretty much, but who would suspect it? I can't think of another story in all of history where a woman was used to bait anything." He paused. "Do we have an accord?"

"Tropical rhythms and drinks, right?" she asked. Waiting for his nod, she gestured slightly for him to move. "I trusted you!" she bellowed, her voice already growing hoarse.

"Give me the pistol," Jack shouted, eyes darting towards the house.

"I'll give it to you! Give it to you till you die!" With that, she fired and Jack slumped onto the sand.

Realistic. He was a fine actor, to add to his many talents, she thought, walking over to him and pretending to check him. Leaving the pistol, she walked up through the rocks to the steps of the house, half expecting "Welcome home, Elizabeth" to be written in blood on the walls like in _The Haunting. _Inside the main foyer, the rays shone in through the windows, lighting the house up in a way it hadn't been since the first day she'd arrived. It would be sunset in about two more hours, she noted, crossing into the dining room to inspect the Indian figures.

"You're behind the times, my dears," she said, throwing two of them out the window before picking hers up. "You're coming with me, Elizabeth Jr."

So far no one met her, no one was waiting to spin around in a chair at the last minute and reveal himself. For the briefest second, she wondered if this was a trick Jack was pulling, but she kept her faith in him. Cleaving onto the banister, Elizabeth ascended the staircase, eyes lurking all around. Just then, Mother Bates marched out of her bedroom with a kitchen knife and slashed at Elizabeth until she toppled down the stairs, the latest victim of the Bates Motel.

Just kidding.

Elizabeth opened the door to her room, unlocked, and gasped. Everything was packed for her, not just the carry-on she'd packed for herself. Every shoe and hairpin was out of the drawers and hangers and in her luggage.

"I took the liberty of preparing everything for you."

She spun around and squeaked out his name to avoid screaming.

"James!"

James Norrington strutted over to her with a smirk for the ages. She raced to the other side of the bed for some distance between them.

"It all went according to plan. I knew you'd bump off Sparrow. You'd already done it once. How hard could it be to do it again?" he laughed. "Oh, Elizabeth, you'll be so happy as the wife of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. This time around, not like how things were when you were married to Turner." He laughed again.

"You're alive."

"Yes. Yes, I'm alive. I'm also delightfully mad." He gave another maniacal laugh. "Sunset will be upon us soon. We don't have much time. I made this for you." He opened his coat and produced a noose. "We'll just take care of a few technicalities and then it's smooth sailing. I hope Will's dad doesn't carry a grudge. Ready to stand on the chair and get this over with?" He hung the noose on the hook on her ceiling.

Wide eyed, Elizabeth pieced the puzzle together. To die. To die, she could be on the _Dutchman _with him without reprieve, without separation.

"But how did you do it?" she stalled, unzipping her luggage and finding her hairbrush. "I want to look my best for when they find my body." With a quivering hand, she started brushing her hair.

"Oh, easy. I faked my note…well, before that, I hired Pintel and Ragetti to do the catering and buttler-ing… Teague was easy. Just slip in a bit of cyanide when Ragetti fainted. That night I went up to Ragetti's room with the last of the cyanide and said Barbossa instructed him to take this. He did it unquestionably, of course."

"And now he's dead," she said.

"Now he's dead. Uh…who was next? Your father. Sorry about this one, Elizabeth, but I couldn't leave you with any living attachments. I bludgeoned him with the life preserver…still can't get over the irony there, after we were done with our walk. Early in the morning, I left my room and hacked up Pintel and grabbed the master key from him. In the confusion to find him, I let myself into Sparrow's room and stole, er, commandeered his pistol. Come on over here now. Stand on the chair."

"Not without my good heels," she said, shuffling through her bag. "Woman's vanity, you know!" she chuckled, wondering why the hell Jack hadn't shot him yet.

"It wasn't long before I recruited Barbossa's help," James continued his monologue. "He believed me to be above suspicion as the only non-pirate here. He suspected Sparrow and I pretended to concur. It was easy to slip Gibbs a sedative and then stick him with the syringe when we were all making our way to the sitting room. But then here was my genius. I had to pretend to be a victim so I could move about freely and watch all of you. Barbossa thought it was an excellent idea, that we would throw the killer off-guard. He was the only one to closely examine me anyway."

"Where did you hide the pistol?" she asked, trying to apply lipstick without a mirror.

"Oh, in one of the tins in the pantry where the ham and cheese were. All I had to do was replace the adhesive tape. No one thought to check sealed tins of food. I hid the chest behind all the tins."

"That's the last time any of us try to cut corners," she said to herself.

"I figured no one would look there, and I was right! Barbossa and I met at the cliffs to discuss strategy when I pushed him off. Didn't suspect a thing. And then I was left with three unpredictable people, one with a returned pistol, and anything could happen!"

"You stabbed the heart after that," Elizabeth finished, laying on the bed and pulling out a magazine. It was a long monologue.

"And it felt glorious! That's what Turner gets for kicking me off after I was resurrected! Ha ha ha!" He pulled her to her feet. "And now, my dear Elizabeth, we can be together. There can't be anywhere else your heart truly lies because everyone's dead! I told you that you and I would make it out of this and we will!" Wrenching her arms, he forced her near the chair.

"James, James, hear me out," she stammered. "You're being so forceful. Before, with all your stoic suffering in silence and unrequited love, it was…it was cathartic!"

"Well, I came back a little wrong when I was resurrected. Haven't you seen _Pet Sematary?_ On the chair."

"James, I have flying lessons at the airport next week. They'll wonder where I am and…and…I left my gerbil at home. I can't back out of that kind of commitment."

"There will be plenty of gerbils on the _Flying Dutchman_," he said in a blissful abandon. "Gerbils as far as the eye can see if that will make you happy! Now then." He manhandled her onto the chair and struggled to fit the noose around her neck. "We have to follow the rhyme, my dear. 'He went and hanged himself and then there were none.'"

"And then there were two, you son of a bitch!" she heard on the other side of James. Jack fired his pistol straight into James' head. Staggering back, James wiped the blood off his forehead and blinked a few times.

"Oh," Jack said. "Immortal ship captain. Forgot."

"I'll take care of both of you before the sun sets!"

Elizabeth leapt onto James, clawing at him as Jack rammed the butt of the pistol into him. It would do no good, they knew, but if they could only survive until sunset.

Without warning, a plunging sound thundered from outside. The _Flying Dutchman _emerged, each of its cannons aimed directly at the house. The crew stood at the ready on the main deck, swords in hand.

"All right, boys, get ready," Bootstrap ordered. "Heads up!" he called.

Jack and Elizabeth dropped what they were doing and sprinted down the stairs, not bothering to give a backward glance to James who was closing in behind them. Far from the house, far from the house, was their only thought process. Diving through the front door, they teetered on the rocks on their way down, finally able to hurl themselves onto the beach before the cannons fired, eliciting an explosion that would make Michael Bay proud.

"You guys all right?" Bootstrap asked, stepping down off the docked _Dutchman _with buckets of water strapped to his legs. He helped them up and looked back at the house with them, all in shambles. The debris smoked, a black mass of cinders and ash where a fine house had once stood.

"Talk about a _deus ex machina_," Elizabeth said as she tottered, backing away from the rubble. "What about the heart?"

"I think plenty of shit just stabbed Norrington's heart, don't you?" Bootstrap chuckled. "Why so shocked looking, Jack? The crew and I thought about it and we thought to ourselves, 'reparations?' Since when does any government give handouts to folks who deserve it? Well, William, bless his heart, he was a good kid and mighty fine with a sword, but he wasn't the brightest. Reminds me of the joke: an old blacksmith realized he was soon going to quit working. He picked out a strong young man to become his apprentice. The old fellow was crabby and exacting. 'Don't ask me a lot of questions,' he told the boy. 'Just do whatever I tell you to do.' One day the old blacksmith took an iron out of the forge and laid it on the anvil. 'Get the hammer over there,' he said. 'When I nod my head, hit it real good and hard.' Now the town is looking for a new blacksmith." Bootstrap wiped a tear. "Good stuff. Well, seeing as I'm captain now, where can I drop you guys off?"

"The airport," Jack said, looking at Elizabeth. "We have flying lessons to arrange."

"Jack!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "I promise we'll use our little Cessna to find the _Pearl_. I'm already qualified on Microsoft Flight Simulator. She'll be all right."

"I know, love," he said, kissing her as they stepped on board the _Dutchman. _"Going after her is kind of my shtick."

THE END


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